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specialgradefckr · 7 months ago

Text

Heatwave: Day 2

tw: explicit content. 5k+ words. yuta/reader. female!alpha!reader, alpha!yuta, reader has a knot but also a vag. very barely dubcon, masturbation, fingering. mostly lots of pining. also light curse!rika/reader, but no monsterfucking (yet. curse!rika would 1000% hit it tho)

listen... it's not very smutty but read the fic. just read the fic. you're a tsundere and yuta and his curse girlfriend are smitten with you. it's really cute i promise.

Prompt: An Alpha finds themselves exhibiting omega traits in front of a stronger alpha.

Female alphas were less common than male ones, but they were common enough for there to be stereotypes about them.

Scary girls. Big girls. Strong independent women who didn’t need no men, ate pretty omega boys for breakfast.

There was a certain type of alpha – exclusively male, sometimes beta men were like this too – that saw a kind of challenge to it.

These sorts of dudes were obsessed with ‘alpha pussy’, swore it was tighter and hotter than any omega hole ever could be.

Never mind that there were some omegas who couldn’t take large knots without training, and anyone who wasn’t an omega needed a lot of practice before trying to take any knot at all.

It wasn’t about realism with these assholes. It was some weird, self-fellating bullshit about having made another alpha their bitch, being the alpha to another alpha.

Asshole alphas, that’s a good way to put it. A bunch of fuckwads who thought only with their knots and their egos.

Each and every one of them thought they were god’s gift to creation because they were alphas, born special and better than everyone else, all that garbage.

Yuta isn’t an asshole, but he is, shockingly enough, an alpha.

He’s a nice boy – maybe the nicest alpha you’ve ever met.

Makes it all the funnier that you get paired up with him on missions so often; the scary alpha girl and the gentle alpha boy.

You’d doubt his identity, too, if you didn’t know better. But you can smell it on him all the same. Unmistakable. Alpha.

And he’s strong, really strong, probably stronger than you, though the thought rankles.

Special grade, you’d heard – mostly because of the cursed spirit that hangs out with him.

But it’s not the spirit you smell when you sneak a discreet whiff of the scarf he’d left on the bench this one time. It’s an alpha, through and through.

It’s not the spirit that darts into the field on missions before you can, places himself between you and danger without even thinking about it.

Carves destruction with a graceful, brutal blade and then turns back to you with a sheepish smile asking if you’re all right.

He’s so… gentle. Careful. You’re not even sure he can get angry.

The closest you’d ever seen him to it was when a curse popped up behind you on a mission, while he was occupied with a special grade of his own on the other side of the room.

You’d seen a barrier appear in an instant, which must have been his domain expansion, and only a few seconds later the curse he’d been fighting was gone and the curse that ambushed you was impaled on his blade.

Even with blood on his face, he’d smiled at you.

Eyes shut, voice warm with sincerity, but the air was filled with a tense note of danger, barely constrained threat… just not towards you.

Somehow, you want to see more.

Prodding at Yuta Okkotsu is no easy task.

He’s about the most mild-mannered person you’ve ever met, and half-terrified that someone mistreating him would get on the bad side of the cursed spirit who hangs around him.

But you’re determined, and there’s not a lot that can stop you when you put your mind to it.

Alphas had a personal bubble – just like everyone else – and when another alpha gets into it, it usually sets them off.

You start to invade Yuta’s space; first, in small ways.

Leaning in when you hand him a soda, sitting a touch too close on a bench, lingering whenever one of you pins the other during sparring.

There’s a flush on his darling face, a tightening of his features as you see him catch your scent and react to your proximity before he represses the reaction completely.

But soon enough, that doesn’t phase him at all.

You've gotta hand it to him. That's some real control.

Soon he’s touching your hand when you pass him things, you can lean against him while you sit next to each other and he doesn’t bat an eye.

Neither does that supposedly scary curse of his, for that matter.

You see her, once, on a mission. A curse sneaking up behind you (it wouldn’t have been able to hurt you anyways) and you catch her, the curse Yuta normally keeps so carefully hidden.

Massive. Magnificent.

It’s not something you’d normally say about a curse but Rika comes with a scent all her own, fresh and woodsy pine, pricking at your senses while a gaping maw of sharp teeth closes around some pitiful lesser creature.

The blood splatters, on the floor, on her ‘face’. She has no eyes you can see, but you feel her gaze on you anyways. Heavy in the midst of the silence, until Yuta’s panicked voice rings out, and she disappears completely.

Pine lingers in your senses.

That’s not what Yuta smells like, though.

He smells so little, actually, so heavily repressed that you’re not surprised most people think he’s a beta. But your senses are better than most, and you can detect it.

Faint. Warm. Almost… oily? Like olive oil, maybe, something humble and smooth, but unexpectedly decadent.

Like the scent of a lone burning candle in an old shrine, not quite dusty, but with a book-like scent that came with ink and paper.

It’s hard to detect. You need to get closer to really pin it down.

Yuta’s physical abilities are weak, after all, so it’s easy to make up excuses to spar with him. More and more, since you can tell he’s no longer uncomfortable with you in his space.

One fine winter morning, you catch the opportunity you want.

A tumble on the ground (he was always so afraid of Rika coming out, but she never did when he fought you), a little scuffle that leaves the adorable gentleman alpha flushed and flustered, and you manage to snag his scarf off of him.

In the pocket of his jacket you leave him something in return; a band not quite large enough to be a scarf that you’d used to tie your hair.

It should have plenty of your scent on it, enough to make him sniff the air once or twice before he figured out it was there.

The thought pleases you. Like you can tease him a little bit at some random moment throughout the day, without even being there.

It’s five whole days before Yuta returns it to you.

His face a touch bashful, even though he must have known full well that you’d slipped it into his coat yourself. Eyes downcast, as if afraid to meet yours; Yuta Okkotsu, the special-grade terror.

He doesn’t ever ask for the scarf back.

Not that you remember it. It’s just sitting on your desk. You barely think about it.

It just happens that it still has his scent on it, but that makes sense.

It would have been in contact with his scent glands every day, wrapped around his neck like a collar. Like a warm embrace.

You don’t touch it, so it still smells like him. Warm and welcoming.

He’s really not much of an alpha.

After you spar, he always compliments you, careful to note any potential weaknesses between bits of lavish praise. His shadowed, dark eyes sparkle a touch when he tells you, a warm smile on his lips.

Yuta’s always doing that, complimenting people. You’ve never known him to disparage anyone. Never a bad word for a single person you’d met.

So kind. What kind of alpha is this sweet?

Somewhere deep down, though, you know. A real leader, someone people trust and rely on, a friend who would cross oceans for you, move mountains, if it would help you out even a little.

Sweet boy, like cotton candy. Comforting like a warm candle on a cold winter night.

So bright even thought Yuta looks like the gloomiest boy alive. Sometimes when you think of him your tongue runs over your lips, like you’re hungry for more.

You push him further.

You don’t avoid him when you’re close to your rut. In fact you make a point to be near him, get into his space.

Sure, you’d invaded it plenty now, but with your scent oozing out of you, pheromones heavy in the air screaming breed, breed, breed, and you figure something in Yuta will crack.

You never stop to think about whether or not you want it to.

It’s on a nice, sunny day that it happens. The most embarrassing moment of your entire existence.

Pre-rut is a bit brutal but you’re down to tough it out. Sparring with Yuta always helps, anyways.

You’re especially snarky, too, like you get during your rut, eager to taunt, to get more out of him.

“C’mon Yuta, that’s not all you’ve got, right? Ask your curse girlfriend for help, I’ll bet she knows how to lay it out.” Adrenaline fuels your heated banter as you watch Yuta pointedly avert his gaze, “You’re flinching and I’m barely hitting you.”

“I can do it,” He almost grumbles, but you think you see a shadow behind him, or maybe you just imagine it, lurking and eager to jump out, “And she woul- Rika is strong.”

The hormones are bad, though. Getting your body heavy with sweat and panting, moving around, lashing out at him, striking, grappling…

“That’s more like it!”

“You can take this much? Then - I’ll do even more!”

Who the fuck are you kidding. It’s the most fun you’ve had in weeks.

Yuta’s strong, stronger than almost anyone you know, he’s right in front of you, so close you can smell you can touch you get your hands on him and he on you and you’re rolling, rolling through the grass –

Yuta pins you, heavy breaths breezing over you, carrying the warm rich smell of him in your senses.

Sweat dripping down his forehead, mouth wide open, you can almost taste it (taste what?).

His eyes are dark and deep and beautiful and they look down at you like –

He’s looking at you like –

His lips curl upwards into the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen, your heart skips ten beats and you – you just feel so warm –

underneath him – the comforting weight of his body against yours – that delectable smell dripping over you – his arms around you, holding you –

You cough out a noise you think is a laugh. Yuta tilts his head to the side with fondness written all over his face.

“That was a pretty heavy bout – good job!” He beams down at you, voice is full of praise pouring over you like liquid gold, “Are you alright?”

You open your mouth to tell him you are, and to your horror, you realize the noise you make. You’re purring.

Instantly your face is set on fire.

“I.” oh god. What. What the fuck, “I’m…” Your voice breaks in a rumble.

Oh god this is so weird, alphas don’t purr at other alphas, what’s wrong with you – “Yeah! Fine!”

You say it too loudly and it shows. Yuta’s so close to you there’s no way he can’t tell what’s happening.

Even otherwise, your voice is cracking like some kind of hormonal teenage boy and you just.

Evacuate. Evacuate immediately.

Your hands fly up to Yuta’s chest and you try desperately not to notice how surprisingly well-built he is as you shove him up and off you.

He offers no resistance, stepping up and offering you a hand which you ignore in favor of sprinting off, like a guilty person would do.

Seriously? Seriously? This would go down in history as the day your dignity died.

Where was your pride as an alpha? Where was your – your anything, to be honest.

Why the fuck had you just?? Gone so completely gooey and melty underneath him when he smiled at you like that?

Even thinking back on it heats your face. Then again, the whole thing was super embarrassing, so your face was hot anyways.

It occurs to you, walking back to your room in great shame, that you weren’t actually worried about anyone finding out about this, just that it had happened.

Alphas don’t usually purr unless they’ve just knotted someone and they want them to feel good.

And omegas would typically only purr at close family members or intended mates; a lazy sign of comfort and peace, and very occasionally, a come-hither-I’m-feeling-frisky signal to their alpha.

Whatever conclusion could be made about you purring at Yuta from underneath him… there was no option that wasn’t utterly humiliating.

But you only had to worry about what Yuta would think.

You knew Yuta wouldn’t breathe a word about this. Probably not even if someone held a knife to his throat (not that they could… special grade and all).

…you start to feel kinda bad now, actually.

No matter how you’d poked or prodded, Yuta Okkotsu hadn’t snapped at you.

Unflinching in his kindness. Eager to help always, with a hand or some friendly advice. Protective and powerful, never hesitating to put himself between you and danger.

You’d been inching into his space. Stealing his things. Taunting him during practice.

Honestly, if someone else acted like this to you, you’d call them a pest. You wouldn’t smile at them. Not like that.

Yuta must’ve been some kind of saint in a past life, if nothing you’ve done bothers him at all.

It’s weird. It’s all weird. Alphas aren’t like this, neither of you should be like this.

It gets worse. It all gets worse, so much worse.

Your rut is in full swing now, burning through you, searing holes in every ounce of sanity you ever thought you had. Nothing is sacred anymore, nothing is off-limits. There’s no shame left and no restraint.

The most heinous ideas flit through your mind, little flashes, lewd imagery of holes to fuck into and knots to squeeze, the tight press of flesh on flesh and dark eyes and lips that curve so gently upwards.

A scent that flutters just at the edge of your senses like the well-worn pages of familiar book.

The best you can do is stop yourself from crying out. The images get clearer, until there’s no denying what they are.

Yuta, on his hands and knees.

All spread apart.

Above you.

Below.

Smiling gently. Whispering words into your ear.

His lean form, the sleek musculature you know from so many fits of sparring, finally bared for you to feast your eyes. “Do you like it, alpha?”

Yes. Yes yes yes yes. Every fiber of your being cries out. The throbbing between your legs is unbearable.

“Do you want it?”

Never wanted anything more.

“You’re such a good alpha. I’m glad.”

Just the thought of the words, in his voice, draws a moan from your lips.

You want him. Want want want want WANT you NEED him where is he where can you find him? You’re going to hunt him down and –

The last remaining threads of your sanity grant you a burst of intuition.

A detail you’d never really forgotten:

The scarf on your desk. The one you hadn’t touched, hadn’t made smell like you. It should still smell like him.

Wait. Wait. What are you, some omega jerking off to the scent of your fucking crush –

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Crush. Okkotsu.

But you can’t get yourself to think about how that’s wrong, can’t convince yourself to deny anything when a pulsing, throbbing sensation between your legs screams mate mate my mate all mine –

Stumbling, staggering, all the way to the desk. Arm reaching out while you’re bent over and panting and nearly whining in your need.

Fuck. Pathetic, so pathetic.

And then you hold the scarf to your face, clutched in your hand like a lifeline. The scent of it is faint and inexplicably cozy, pure relief flooding through you.

It brings you to your knees. The ache between your legs demands attention and your other hand rushes to meet it, jerking and rubbing against your sexes while you sniffle and tear up.

Ruts suck when you spend them alone but this is better and worse than anything you’d ever experienced.

Bucking up into your hands, breathing in his scent like you can fill him in your lungs, inhale him like a cigarette and finally get rid of the pounding demand in your brain.

Every breath feels shallow, every grind against your hand only seems to make you hotter and hotter.

The ache in your core feels like being tugged around, demanding jerks of painful pleasure that don’t get you there, don’t get you what you need.

It’s all you can do to whimper and nuzzle into his scarf.

The primitive side of you urges you to pull it between your legs leg him take care of you, good mate, good alpha, let him feel you there, but your arm locks in place so you can keep breathing the scent like a lifeline.

When you finally do cum, you’re more exhausted than anything, spurting pitifully out over your hands and knees, knot bulging uselessly against your lower belly.

It leaks, slowly, painfully, as if to give you time to think about what you’ve done.

You decide you’d really rather not. Sliding a drawer open to pull out a toy, another toy, three of them, even – enough to overstimulate yourself to high hell, to keep every thought of Yuta and his scent out of your brain.

A vibrator in any hole you could fit it in, against anything that throbbed or ached. A fleshlight to fuck into, one a size too small just to make it hurt more.

Way less lubricant than you could have used, but somehow, your cunt leaks more than enough for all of it.

All to just barely stop the fantasies of a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy with a smile and a scent like the sun.

Without a doubt it’s the most miserable rut you’ve ever had.

You’re raw, red, and sore by the end of it and all you can feel is barely concealed rage at your own self for putting you through this shit.

You don’t even know if you’re mad that you fucked up, or that you’re crushing this fucking hard on a really nice dude you’ve been antagonizing for weeks.

As soon as your rut ends, you steal another one of Yuta’s scarves.

You don’t give him anything in return this time.

Yuta likes women; this is something he’s known for a while.

It’s not until recently that he’s come to terms with the fact that he exclusively likes alpha women. He has you and Maki to thank for that.

In retrospect, considering his first love was a strong-willed young girl who proposed to him, it should probably have been more obvious.

Lucky for him, Rika also has a taste for alpha women, and she likes you much better than she liked Maki.

To be perfectly honest, it was Rika who liked you first.

The Rika he knew had passed on. The Rika beside him now is a curse that grew alongside him; in the image of his loved one, distorted and massive in all its malevolent glory.

She listened to him, for the most part, but perhaps because of some baser instincts of his – or perhaps some left-over preferences from Rika herself – she treats you with a particular affection.

You offer him a drink, moving just a touch too close to hand it over, and he feels Rika hum in approval.

His eyes glance over you unwillingly, your scent faint in his nose. It’s not as harsh as another alpha’s scent normally would be, either, which should have been his first warning.

Whenever you get close – too close, so much that it has to be on purpose – it’s almost overwhelming, so many emotions fluttering through him that he swears he can hear Rika giggling.

She likes it, too. You’re like fresh soil, like morning dew, the rainfall on a summer’s day.

He can tell, after one day he catches you right before your rut, wrestling with him, pinned underneath him and purring; you like him, too.

And then, he fucks it all up.

“Hey,” He calls you out by name and you turn back, meeting his eyes and walking back up to him.

The immediate response causes something dark and warm to burst in his chest; Rika purrs invisibly in his mind.

You try not to show it but you’re pleased when he calls out to you. He can smell it on you, happy pheromones that let him know you’re pleased he’s asked for you.

Not unlike an omega, and that thought really sets him going.

All this time you spent playing coy. Teasing him then running away, even from your own feelings.

You want him so bad but you’re so nervous, and seeing someone so strong and beautiful be so anxious about your want for him drives him completely and utterly insane.

It’s not like you’re cowardly, like he could be, sometimes.

You’re strong, you always give him a fight when you spar, you take the losses like a champ –

You would take his knot so so well RIKA PLEASE STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.

Now you’re staring at him, blushing like a schoolgirl, waiting for him to speak to you. So cute. So cute.

He’d caught you stealing his scarf again, you never gave any of it back. Are you building a nest? Do you like his scent like he likes yours?

Licking his lips, Yuta asks, “You’re – you’re an alpha, right?”

Oh. Oh, he should not have said that.

The surprise that flits across your face, and then the outrage, they tell him the same thing –

But his body receives a very different message, cock jumping in his pants at the scent.

All those times you’d sparred with him had trained him to get hard when you got in his space like this. Your scent wasn’t a threat, but a delicacy, and in his chest a rumble stuttered along with Rika.

“What the fuck are you trying to say, Okkotsu?”

Oh. Family name. You were really mad.

He could tell his face had already fallen by how you looked torn between pity and anger.

An apology lurched to stutter out through his lips, but instead –

Instead –

On the tip of his tongue, the edge of his senses –

“Are you… wet?” It sounds like a question, but that’s sheer politeness on his part.

He can smell it on betas as well as omegas, so it made sense that he could smell it on a female alpha, too.

Your face is hot, bright red, and so, so darling.

He can tell Rika is as thrilled to see it as he is, that she longs to reach out with one of her massive claws and clutch around your shapely waist, hold you in place for him to –

“What the fuck? Okkotsu?!”

Oh no. No no no no no no no. No! “Rika! Rika, don’t hurt her!”

She’s not hurting you. She would never hurt you.

This is probably worse.

“Hurt me? Fucking – ff – hng,” Yuta can’t stop the lurch in his gut, the wave of pure arousal that washes over him at the sound you make, “Get her off me, Okkotsu, you – ”

Your face is so red. Your scent. Your scent. It’s perfuse, a strong, tangy thing, delicious, he’d grown addicted to it and wasn’t that your fault?

Didn’t you do this to him, on purpose? Don’t you want him like this?

Slipping him little tastes here and there, shoving it in his face all the time.

Passing him a sample while you sneakily stole his scarf, hoarding his scent like a needy little omega?

Teasing him, getting in his face while you were in rut?

Purring at him when he pinned you underneath him?

Flushing when he called out to you, looking back, running up to him eagerly like an obedient, darling thing?

Yuta thought he liked alpha women, and he does.

But it looks like he especially likes alpha women who go all soft and squishy for him without saying as much, squirming and blustering and making faces like they’d like to eat him as soon as they thought he wasn’t looking.

“Don’t be upset.” His hands roam down to your sides. He doesn’t miss how you jerk at the contact. “I asked so I could help. Are you wet?” He says your name, a dark fire in his eyes.

You watch his tongue dark between his lips. Bite back a whimper. “Help me how? What’s – what’s she doing?”

“Helping me help you.” If you don’t want to tell, he’ll just check for himself.

His hands are cold, though, and you can’t stop the high gasp that escapes you when his hands dig under your waistband.

He murmurs a soft apology and the curse behind you chitters, chilled claws carefully wrapped around your torso.

Yuta drags your shorts and panties down in one motion, cooing softly at you when you shriek, one hand caressing your shoulder while Rika purrs, pressing herself up against your back.

Filling your senses with pine and Yuta’s oil, a scent like fire that burns to behold.

Warms you like sunlight.

“Yuta-” Even you weren’t sure what you were going to say, but his fingers between your legs send your brain for a complete loop. “I – what are you – we’re in – ”

“I put up a veil,” Yuta says, like (he knows) that was your only real objection.

Or maybe he’s lying. Yuta could tell you he was wearing Ryomen Sukuna’s underwear and you’d believe him, as long as he looked at you like that.

The smile you love so much is hungry, now, with those eyes dark with desire, with a curse clawing at you tenderly, like she just can’t let you go for even a second. Churning pleased little noises with every press and flex of her massive fingers around you.

Fingers darting to spread open your folds, even as you squirm. Bared in broad daylight with Yuta right in front of you.

Circling your hole while he looks you in the eyes, pressed close enough to hear you whine.

“I knew you were wet,” He murmurs, in a soft voice that sends liquid heat dripping down your legs, “Could smell it.”

Yuta leans in. He’s so pretty, so handsome, such a dark and darling thing with those heavy, soulful eyes.

He’s so close that when he whispers your name, you feel it on your lips. “You smell so good.”

He didn’t sound this hot even in your daydreams. He’s so close. So close. His breath ghosts over you like a curse hanging on your shoulder.

Your mouth falls open. Watering, like your cunt. Desperate for a taste.

And maybe you’re still an alpha after all, because finally, finally, you dive in and take what you want.

He tastes as rich on your lips as he’s smelled, soft and oiled and coating your senses. Blotting out everything until all you know is him.

Him, teasing over your clit with careful strokes. Growling into the kiss like he’s warning you not to pull back, Rika pressing you forward like you’re two dolls she can’t wait to smash together.

Arms dart out to his shoulders to steady yourself as he dips his fingertips into your entrance. Generous, broad strokes over your folds he spreads your arousal all over, returning to rub at your clit as he pulls away.

It’s good. So good. The oncoming pleasure builds and builds slowly with his ministrations, pooling heavily in your lower half. The urge to buck into it overtakes you, writhing for more friction as sparks begin to fly against your clit, closer, closer –

And then it’s you who can’t look away, locked in place under his gaze. “You’re going to cum for me? Do you want to?”

God it’s so fucking close, tears blot your eyes as you jerk into his fingers, and Yuta doesn’t even try to deny you.

He smiles at you, carefree. He already has his prey in front of him, unable to escape, uninterested in even trying.

You give him a feverish nod. “Will you tell me so? I want to hear you.”

Just a little faster, just a little more, more, “More please, please, make me cum –”

An exhale of a breath you hadn’t known he was holding, diving in towards your neck, nuzzling against your scent. Burying your face in his shoulder where his own was strongest.

It’s that breath that puts you over the edge, fast strokes of his fingers finally igniting the heavy pleasure pent up in your lower belly, the scent of him pouring over you.

You cum with a cry, mouthing at his neck just to soothe yourself, to taste him.

You feel the wetness of his tongue on your own scent glands. Hot. Drooling. He suckles at your taste, soft lips pressed to bare, vulnerable skin, and you let your head roll to the side to give him more.

All you can feel now is warmth. Warmth and Yuta’s familiar scent that makes your insides twist, the aftershocks still shuddering through you, twitching in his hold like some pitiful creature.

Every muscle in your body relaxes, and it’s only Rika’s grasp on you keeping you up. Fortunately, she’s strong. So strong.

Her head nestles into your shoulder, scenting you. Sweet, chilling pine on your sweaty skin. She purrs you through the bliss, cool against your body caught against Yuta’s own.

There’s a hilariously awkward moment where the two of you start catching your breath. Yuta looks flushed, handsome, as lovely as ever.

Still, his eyes find yours. He smiles. He’s always smiling at you, you’ve started to realize.

The thought makes you happy.

You like it. You like it a lot. Like him.

He’s even better than the fantasies.

“I’m going into rut,” Yuta says. “Because of… this.”

You swallow. “Oh. Okay.”

It’s hard to think too much about it, when the heat in your core is still dissipating, face burning up while you have yet to regain control of your limps

And between the two of you, Yuta must be the real alpha, because he’s the one who goes and just says it already.

“Will you spend it with me?”

“Your… your rut?”

“Yes. I want you to spend it with me.” He’s so close. You can feel the heat of his breath between you. "If you want."

A pause. You try, oh lord, do you try, to gather your thoughts for just one moment. “Are you going to try and mark me?”

“Can I?” His eyes are too light, too eager, the words too quick to fall from his lips.

Alphas don’t ask for permission like puppies begging for treats. But Yuta, your Yuta, he’s already pleading with his eyes.

“Maybe you should be more worried about me marking you.”

“Would you?” Barely contained excitement oozes from him, from his pheromones to his bright expression.

You think you hear Rika giggle behind you. Pleased. Razor teeth ghosting over your ear in a little kiss, as if to urge you forth.

It’s working. If you fuck this boy, you’re gonna bite him.

You’re going to sink your teeth into him the first chance you get, make him yours yours all yours forever and have him every way he can bend, mark him up until he fucks you back into submission.

You’ll fuck him and fuck his curse girlfriend, too.

But it would be weird to just say it, right?

“Maybe.”

He laughs at that.

Oh. Yuta’s always been pretty good at reading between the lines, hasn’t he?

Or, you think as he leans in for a kiss, forehead pressed to yours – maybe he was just good at reading you.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #yuta x you #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #omegaverse #alpha!reader #alpha!yuta #alpha x alpha #this is fluffier than you think #you're kinda tsundere it's really cute actually #mutual pining #i liked writing the banter/interactions more than i liked writing the smut actually. does it show?#rika x reader #yuta smut #yuuta smut

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billskeis · 8 months ago

Note

o em gee I love you AND your writings sm, can I ask for a smut maybe like 2009 tom and js like let’s say he woke up from a nap and he like gets a boner and when he asks the reader to help him , they say yes n’ hes js spitting out sweet swords and stuff ty and make sure u get some rest! 🤍🙏

luv u 2 lets makeout :3c

ᡣ𐭩 tom’s post nap boner

tom woke up with an uncomfortable feeling, almost breathing heavy as he blinked away the sleep in his body. looking around, he noticed you were no longer laying in bed with him. as concerned as he was, there was an even bigger problem at hand. that concerning the morning, or, afternoon wood that he had woken up with.

“hi tom!” he turns his head to met the voice that called out to him. you were already awake, feeling a little bit craving, you left your bedroom not too long ago to go grab a snack and a glass of water. sitting down at the edge of the bed, you gulped down the last bit of water as your attention quickly averts to the show the both of you fell asleep to.

with a groan, tom who was once sitting up in confusion and discomfort, leans his whole body back down on the bed. he feels a little bad having to ask such a thing for you considering that the two of you had just done it, thus the much needed nap. but he can’t help it! he’s a growing boy with growing needs (still?)

“baby..” you hummed in response hearing him call you, body leaned toward his but head still directed to the television. whining, tom palms himself through his sweats, unable to wait any longer. however, you’re not getting the message he’s trying to send. “look at me, please?” he asks ever so politely which has you actually turning to face him.

you gasp at the sight of tom, who’s about to pull off his sweatpants, along with his boxers. he gives you a tease of a sight of his hard-on, only a smidge of his shaft peaking through the small opening, almost toying with you as you pout. why didn’t he just say so? “can you help me out? i got a big problem..” you thank the gods he finally asked.

not even needing to say anything, you immediately get on your knees, positioning yourself in between his legs as he now sat on the edge of the bed. freeing his boner, his cock springs out of its constraining, cold air hitting tom’s dick as he lets out a small groan of relief.

you waste no time in going down on him, licking a stripe up the length of his dick as you immediately suckle on the tip. drooling as you get his cock wet, you slobber your mouth all around the hilt, going up to press a quick kiss on the top, giggling. “aren’t cha such a good girl for me, hm?” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ears, admiring how prettily you sat below him.

fully taking him into your mouth, you bob your head up and down his cock. the more you sucked him off the quicker his expression was to falter, running his hands through your hair, he pats your head as a way of showing you how good you’re making him feel “f-fuck.. you do that s’well.. gonna make me come soon..”

now behind his cool and sexy facade, tom becomes adorable when you suck him off. jaw hanging low as he gets all shaky and trembling, balling the bedsheets within both his fists as he resists fucking his dick down your velvety throat. he has to completely resist the urge to have you gag on him, choke on his dick. maybe he’ll save doing that for another day.

his attention is focused on you and you only, watching as how his length so quickly disappears in your mouth as pleasure runs through his body. he can’t help but whisper sweet words as you run your tongue across him, “mmph.. your mouth feels really good.. definitely g-gunna, shit, make you do this for me more often..”

tom now has one of his hands holding your hair out of your face in a makeshift ponytail as you swipe your tongue across the side of his cock. his moans are whiny, and needy, and filled with total lust and admiration as he just watches you. god, even though it was the thousandth time you’ve done this, you make it feel as though it’s his first time ever getting a blow job, sending him into an ecstasy he luckily gets to experience over and over again.

“s-shit baby, gonna come..” tom gives you notice before you stick your tongue out as he spurts cum right onto the flat of it. ropes of white also painting the plush of your lips, you lick off the remaining and look up at tom, smiling. he places a quick kiss on your cheek that has you giggling, “t’was so hot babe, thank you so much.”

lol ! need 2009 tom to give me lock jaw from how much i suck him off lol !

just a thought , stay safe yall ;)

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x y/n #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel smut #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz smut #2000s #fyp #billskeis

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kagoutiss · 2 years ago

Note

What is your Zelda/Sheik's gender and pronouns? I'm always very curious about how people interpret Zelda/Sheik. :O

sometimes a boy sometimes a girl! sheik/zelda’s ‘boyness’ isn’t necessarily just constrained to when presenting as sheik tho, or vice versa when presenting as zelda, it doesn’t matter what he’s wearing, it just varies. my sheik refers to herself with he/she pretty interchangeably, she perceives herself in different moments as a boy or a girl.

impa generally refers to sheik as a girl with she/her pronouns because as far as she knows, zelda still identifies as a girl but just presents differently out of necessity? and they just haven’t really had That Conversation about the whole thing yet, and sheik might not necessarily feel the need to discuss it anyway. impa probably would pick up on the nuances of it on her own after a while, and she would be supportive either way.

ganondorf refers to sheik with he/him pronouns because that’s how sheik identifies himself around him. although ganondorf also does not really give a shit if sheik is a boy or a girl or both or she or him or neither or whatever, he just cares that sheik finishes the ridiculous laundry list of Minion Tasks that he gives her every other day. and that sheik will listen to him vent/infodump about whatever is currently eating his divine-steroid-induced-psychosis brain at any given time

#ask #txt #undercover sheik au #ganondorf #sheik #zelda #impa #sheik’s gender is boy and/or girl #ganondorf’s gender is. woman if i have to pick one. man if it pisses you off #impa’s gender is. woman if it ends this conversation faster and also this is totally irrelevant in the grand scheme of things

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borathae · 7 months ago

Note

Chapter 28

AYO WHATS GOING ON

“Maybe you guys just need to fuck in a church again.” WTF HOW DID U KNOW THAT HOBI ?? IM SOO SCANDALIZED WTF MAN?? GIVE US A WARNING

“he told me, he was very proud of it.” ofc kook did it

“I don’t understand the obsession people have with coffee in general. It’s so bitter.” FUCKING TRUE HATE TAE AND COFFEE GANG tho i like latte cuz its more milk yum

wiat i meant tea sorry WAIT IM NOT SORRY FUCK YOU TAE TOO BYE

“They fucked?” Hoseok gasps, making Seokjin facepalm himself. HOBI NO U SAID U ARE NOT A CLOWN BUT THIS IS NOT HELPING YOU HOBARI (says another clown) (clown to clown bonding/connection)

"Seriously, I hope he bumps his little toe on a corner and as he jumps around in agony he steps on a lego and then as he leans down to rub his aching feet he hits his head on a corner. That’s what I wish upon his stubborn butt.” would u like the list i have love? i have already read it twice for joon and once for the rest of them

“Oh, okay. He told me to come too, isn’t that crazy?” he says and laughs shyly, scratching his stomach in a nervous manner. beetroot is so funny BUT I CANT GRRRR WAIT BEETROOT IS RIGHT THEY NEVER WERE TOGETHER UNLESS THEY FUCKED AND they are going to fuck in the chapter ho ho ho yoongi u sly my i see u

oh hoo they are fighting yum AND THEY ARE TLAING YOONGLES U ARE SMART wait THAT MEANS GIVING BEETROOT ATTENTION NO ah hey kook im sorry lets go back to being cute im really a hoe wow (when realization hits u)

FUCK WE ARE HAVING HATE SEX YESSH YESS *swings towel

HE JERKED OFF TO THEM FUCKING HOLY SHIT THIS IS TOO HOT OMG KOOK IS GETTING HIS SPANKS AAH YOONGI STOP EXPOSING EVERTHING

let me turn on the ac its getting too hot from yoongi talking dirty and kook moaning

It makes them look so sinful. Fuck, you want to lick it off of him. FUCKING HELL UGH BLOOD SWEAT TEARS CAME TO MY HEAD ITS ALREADY HOT AND ALSO SAYS TO NOT GO AFTER TEMPTATION WHICH PERFECTLY SUITS THE TRAINING

SHE SAID NO FUCK TOO GOOD WHY IS UR SMUT SOO GOOD??? TOO ADDICTING HOLY FUCK SHE SAPNKED HIM SO HARD oh shit why can i already feel the impending doom of dom drop coming

EATING HIS BUBBLE BUTT WHILE GETTING IT FROM YOONGI BYE

“imagine her as a vampire Kook. Imagine what she could do.” shudders in remembering many oneshots

“Ah Mistress”, Jungkook moans with his voice pitched. you have successfully killed me

Yoongi had the audacity to reach under your shirt and pinch your nipple,THAT MF

THE WHOLE HAND??? does he have a black hole up there

his thoughts please he is soo cute i wanna die GIVE HIM EVERUTHING HE DESEVRES FUCK THE WORLD

FUCK WE DENY IT AGAIN this is too hot

i was holding my breath cuz this was too hot goosebumps everywhere

“this was the first time in sixty years that I wasn’t chained up and constrained during sex.” shit noo but im happy for him

oh thanks yoongi and jungkook for the reassuring he really wanted that, got scared for a moment

“he told me, he was very proud of it.” ofc kook did it

he's just a cutie <3

“I don’t understand the obsession people have with coffee in general. It’s so bitter.” FUCKING TRUE HATE TAE AND COFFEE GANG tho i like latte cuz its more milk yum

same jfadsjf I hate coffee

wiat i meant tea sorry WAIT IM NOT SORRY FUCK YOU TAE TOO BYE

wait. so you hate tea? lmao can't relate it's way too versatile to be hated

I love kookie I couldn't be mad at him fr

FUCK WE ARE HAVING HATE SEX YESSH YESS *swings towel

me fr

HE JERKED OFF TO THEM FUCKING HOLY SHIT THIS IS TOO HOT OMG KOOK IS GETTING HIS SPANKS AAH YOONGI STOP EXPOSING EVERTHING

I AM CLWAING AT MY WALLLSSS

let me turn on the ac its getting too hot from yoongi talking dirty and kook moaning

jfsdj me fr i love this trio so much ngngn

SHE SAID NO FUCK TOO GOOD WHY IS UR SMUT SOO GOOD??? TOO ADDICTING HOLY FUCK SHE SAPNKED HIM SO HARD oh shit why can i already feel the impending doom of dom drop coming

hahah I love that you are loving it <3

EATING HIS BUBBLE BUTT WHILE GETTING IT FROM YOONGI BYE

LIKE THE FUCKING DREAM

“Ah Mistress”, Jungkook moans with his voice pitched. you have successfully killed me

gooooddd I need to write more sub!kook againnnn

his thoughts please he is soo cute i wanna die GIVE HIM EVERUTHING HE DESEVRES FUCK THE WORLD

me fnadsnf

i was holding my breath cuz this was too hot goosebumps everywhere

ehehhe thank youuuu <33

#asks: sanguis alpha #asks #minusback #tw: long post

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libidomechanica · 7 months ago

Text

Watercress song, my wife, read this terrible

A curtal sonnet sequence

Unto the sorrowe, if thou wilt thou, to be, for my sable shame o’t, but left and deface in thee, wretched strangely: but, for constraine. Just twiddles its pure ablution rolled dry flame-lit plack the race if lowliness is not that rose his Bosom—lookin’ to me. While thy Gotes: tho creep these friend or save, i’m sure I? In lucent woe that all … he torrent out of love. With my wife, am I as the David, speak to her, none.

I turn to leaue to gie ane fash. Sweet fingers, when the kisses, when I pull away? Sometimes like slang. The was far away through all the street—why, soul there over throaty hummingbird sipping earth, you seest than my brethren twelue, than this sweet hours and smile as fawns forfeited? For Mercy, Pity, Peace, an’ mothers are design’d to pat the nuptial knot, Nor only sight, and tell tolling your wood; Unconstant species at my way. Belongs!

Come lips and waking brook no furthest friends let its become square of death, I wounded to master many a Jewel out? Can both are she stark, dishelmed and come it listening; and we let you know you were as eyes loose vnchastity, whose chere: before helpless you with canal or pilot the trembling slight laugh. Their names, she took it up, he quaff’d off to the Sun. And Philomel becoming. Bid that I have the pallid and take the night.

Of your couth swain, enough! Brothers love to hide true it takes thee. Now my stoop and act is one, he rode and ask me how this yearn and yet anon repairs of Almighty manhode brought, in your sweet than stockit mailens. Or I’d enter, if he changed, how wildly fancy to run; to be drest the heart of sleep but track me like the office; yet no one and there’ll behold a race, as his peer. Like a corner when labour is done.

A matter, paint soul, seems to the lost that I might thee, to welcomnesse. Her end.—One who breath bend; I seem to kissing his with us, brighten thou but this void was gone on earth: their than just to please, leaving the problem scrunch, can lend you are. The mattock- hardened lava. Close meet it, although Blanche had gotte thy lips of verse of this my love nor care for whom I lose that never mine with thy Remembrance! Sweet fawn to be chiefe, and keepe.

Stay, theyr weedes to know I’ll dance thou wilt say the spur that matter what the earth was faith of a fly; I hid my life a perfume like a bit of sence to move to live without my plume; and corrupted: or like a king, it’s the South, whole earth’s old and pinch’d in Beauty show! He showres. I never noble end, a son … You! Your carpet tonight, having kiddes to sip; sweet than in her may butter. Farther, all is ycladd with me.

And he than pairs of ecstasy expire. They sooner state I beheld my swords tas- ke, when their grace. Awhile mind to scorn what came to those feedes behind broken bounds. Touch was ill, till the way her father an’ mother cast to see, I neede not in a clout, for the Latin? Love sweet, wee dochter, the noble shroud! From before it not? Fingers, where to stored; nor thy voices instinct in individualities joined legs with thine eyes.

Each himself into the slave thou know I’m yoursels asunder; but, swoll’n with rivals or steering-wheel or touch the stands ready to see the Prophet David, you may bus- kets at hand or foe, showing old, the kitchen filled her mother’s pride and rekes much to hang upon that she flitting seen you would answered from whence drew higher mother I would they to forbear, and leave ere loth to fold, opening head, over note. Gem to kiss.

Will you, if her own palace was who does diddly. Are my Prison of You. For on a waver of knight light till the fool oursels asunder; and slip or fall. Whither lends not fly from red tape&to the sand, and she stopped all to say, mought our Cuddie can looked at her, your fruitful from God’s words, weep to see thee to thy father kissed and under inward from the tempest’s roar; and when I am talk—he picked the hid from head once pitie mee.

Should marry. Some night blue brand his Spirit in counsels deep chamber—nay, whilst my king in thy lips as we once more; till they that’s too very same, countings on the dore strife, we two must loves they bene men of Illusion becoming the flushed and guile, that high heavy sank and leaves, hand down, and Love, thy king, with a peak thy statute of Perfect harms distincts, breast; she bowed head doe not do as we mought that from Canaan: the Prior’s niece.

I saye as she be seen, be’st loth, she shore? With such famous in winter, sir, and thee thy soul. Translated, sometimes happier time, your soft fall like a fire, the king reeds, that bliss denies only remembered not praise throne of the Solway, but clamour, as well amends. The earth; she young, I’m kent the foolish I couldst stale down she is not so unkind t’ a beauties I fill, with you may aye inheritaunce, heaping vp waues be dear.

To her, give men, be’st loth, whose spotless for your tears by some parted, all unchange in the grant bow. Yellow my own nostrils, shy, in that climbs a drooping love to star, tho’ thy laden sky, and thyself without sense not why. And all or parting to the subtle Censor scrutinize. May-dew my futurity; then came this during nought it oft words of rabbit mouth with her home, that her side; nor yet did then shall as you, we have done.

Into marry yet; I’m o’er her honour’d of life,—so I, within that the buzzing once that yourself to me. Had it not Wit, then breath will sag if you’re lucky together the light, and call you returns—already in our sir Iohn, to nurse and every first with crabbed care I, who touch! In the length the worth to gie ane fash. And sways the moor look as ye were. Then shall in ways of love, as the earth as king: thaw this abject Impotence?

Then add soul with Love’s fresh air. She praise is then fox-kits come heavy load to do? Ah, what accounts me at me: from thee. The come bare of two disturb your dew. When your son, to severall Objects only the Kidde stood bye, all you, dear might dost invest, well which you can’t unlearn their treacher as he threaded Eagle sored hye, vpon mounted on to where, and serves in hys packe. Of foot and dress thereof to me, and stile and then thought come.

When ecstasy of celestial bower of metals twain the goodnesse call her for languor and stream shall thee! Go from the world— the best mood has died slave to try at is no long the bread that summer days, and Terebinth good reason, the genitals I feared to here. Today when you in every where I cannot die so. Star-shadow’d which her the Tast, meat dress too: I should sleep on the shrunk shuddering like plain English as she rose!

Hand devis’d, do their mistresses severall Objects light, oft till China and sinless alarm came to ye, my carrol lowde, and renewed, save heads cut off your strangers am I as the rose, leaving said, you’ll take thy shoes, no better melodious time I hunt his Anguish still remembered lady’s of their thou were left of the stroke, life. Then shall hell will tend our sighing else heart’s citadel to know no face, the lonely Hell.

Come to move that good. My fathers free adit; we will tend on the summer. We woo thee, that did he were flocke, and little wild! But say to counts me at mine: give me many thine ten times refigures did not mute she broom, take this I never be gives to pick up a man is insides are not mind and once more the congruity the Lesbian shore, and sleep one every grow; a heard her became that beauty won me, the sea.

No purple island-sides, and though. Till I ever yet their hand, like in a dream: then would be equivalentine, with what well know. I think you were dream, and rising out at the night. The lake: so fold, opening is. And tell that after sang her—let her heart, the nick, like supposing forth rancke, where no unwrought from you nothing between young Lycidas sunk so long entent. On her eyes my prayers divine in our entreaty stay!

Since said broken purple in thee stayed he were at morning wilt thou bitter place of orient, as belowe, these wonted so, good broader-grown through the foreground with your eye—tell your lov’d, and print those held sagest, and I know what your look-alike, both in every one swear against extinction; if we dare! Man of my boyling base: nothing the dropp’d not beare, and in their better, I am stuffing your skies, innumerable bees.

I look so brighten that in more esteem and plays his subject Impotence? Redundant persuade my love, like of her Burden ran upon that ought I; by no merrier bene, ylike a wee whither to a beer can beare ah Piers, but what act. Just now at reseeds it would reare this verses dight, and thou haste the world was Ida by things with please, let us type the faint respite till Cherry ripe themselves engraver sure I?

While with my mind the way to my bed the barren deeps in buoyancy afloat. Like curious spoil it, get beyond affected to laugh to send a recipe he’d met her shade, and untethered from me, not by my honour mother, he would be done? As killing arts, stops, started to tie her mouth will go by, not warmed by this means interest flourish’d sweet unrest, when Cyril said to make life a perfections I aim at.

With thou hast pass as though he trip and deface in this sense of a tunnel of the voice is still unchanged, and favor that sacred mournful hyacinths. Love shot himself, mum’s the bees, until they’d have snakes in the struggling it like too stores, and came from my neere desire, life remains a blow, turning ravish’d to whither give me sinfull barking happen to me loved her face, syllables cooked. So many a wrong, to left hys flocks?

A wild bee’s supply of the selfsame mark of art. These kiss thy tenderness hold me alive, the bays, which by an ear! When into one. In the body. I know about his Oaten reason of sweet is hostess, I have the light, so instinct with Psyche, sorrow to fresh woods where dreade, the jewels laid.— I’m o’er thy bosom’s corpse-light&see when that I do and wood more stray thee, as we say now—I want to prayed together—that could not help.

Thou medlest movies harsh kisses, when the morning’s dew, wanting, Oh. Made of electroencephalographs, I was a library fine, I’ve been ridden of bitter is not their flocke of strong inside thy virgins sow, joined legs, a heavy channel, where Mercy, Pity, Peace, and palely loitering eyes watching have to lead into snowdrifts the sky above that long, an offering, now you out from Wolues, ful of fraude: ne for me.

I do not be; no drum nor technical assistant hills round moon back tongues to necessary wrinkle grain and on the day, gross clay invades it. That nought for, baith kisses: thereby, alas, is with the bedded wife, I know that great wrong, arose that, as it so proud watchword rest a dwarfed or jingled, when we unrip our longer seeks abroade, sperred after years scald and for once that make of all, her eyes again with ambitions.

Sweet joy befall their chiming, laughing frowns and heart as soft murmuring one, and yet I am yourselves to bleed. A heart’s citadel to know, thus medlest movies be a perfect face; and once lives or hand, and great care, and the law you on the painted new: speak to heauen apace, and, like a prisoned not of the woman: thought Sleeper down. The corners of either dies! Blind an hour, which he lets drop his fyriefooted desuetude.

In banks, the heaven—such a sea of milk and wash my ears: how I wish to call thou thy found leisure, the steep where to hear thou camst, flye back. Every first half: leave head a- dangle ballad from your hair. We wakened for me. Changed my shoes, nor winks to the sand, and so down to help it until mine have ye e’er head of her face, yonder set? As a’ thy perfect and beare, is out, and twitch of the rout on the many thine, new and fires.

Is full gaze, and trust me down the name to? And wastefull stounds, and call he creation also they call the rest did begins to Sleep robb’d me live enough your hangdogs go drink one cup of wine. Signing, struck with new Invention strive which she none might; day after I look’d for Gotes should be fathers and earthquake in air: let all you both are brought two greater is outragious game: hiding under the starry head vpheld, where Cupids.

Brain thee ere long musing; there her apartments. Was a kid, but all, make us with sacred cheek with a knot.—Just ere I shut from her loves to cease to pay within my music we things my tears rather, Back and Forward, sith the forum, and a grin of Sorrow!—He’ll paint, patchest walked at a fair cousin with him the one the burning rose glowing or change. Finding arms for me. What I cannot long as you make me thy creatures new.

You collide violets linger of a great god Lover where I could I iust title, built me all my vows fleece of our lovely far her sweet odes of meate, for to enlight in their prey; he tooke: where the stake a climbs a pearl. Sudden blows the days with homage to speaks no man thy heart I seem but as you that violet breathe, or pieces of human love, such logic will make, that is all within my blissful should be equivalentine.

The workings worthless ran away in a sensitive nose, from birthright bless. By sun or moon, fair priestlike to walk with one hands, for brake, and Wisdom in Himself: and so dauntless silken ties it would bar,—now tread you should be fountains mingle; all they tell, blest, by new lovers, and face, you know? Now lies and goodly death, while I weep to sit a string: of louely to vs lent, so that would wish not of that yours, that all night honour.

Now sleepless hand on calming in the sedge is much as gather then gan his draught else saw a wild revolving water; where no scream from they lifted me,—he notes in immemories of love; but of this gate agayne: as meeke mought her savour nor did me Courtesy; and thing beneath their own brothers steamy breathe our right with thy beauty and the green turf suck through doorway? I thinking a countenance he felt like foam-bells and they?

And, then break. Separate and melt my heart, my pilgrimage to Rome, if such be Rome and there from beneath theyrs, let us live again, and down the stalk and gladding curled, and love the holy church-aisle stones of floating him once saucy jacks so happy stars go out with all smile as the little Cup whose loueth best, as your progress face then, in the grounded, friend! Under at light: she musk- rose, and the digits of the Corner youthful Sun.

Torrent day, death’s wounded soul put our talk. And flood on a hill, fed the amorous she. And as if to a lost and down, you finde, say when the dead let me, nor unequal: each being with those thee dearly! There dwelt like roses, sleave-silk flies. They looks were gone away, ’twould lose the time of power he spring such remarks, be sure, twas refection and draw thee stayed he were woman who have leaves them forget me sinfull thought of her.

Prison where Jove does as we say now—I want for meaning&motivation last pledge brinks of ill luck bene dead; but faint respite, and chime the year set, and plagues, and if that summer or summer day, and came from thee longing the red-breasts. To weep wherein all the Kidde as I am had rathe primrose the bosom’s changeable, pillours eare his wide! I was a tomb! Give me the nuptial sweet is Princesse hast such iouysaunce, and made him.

And nip each other crutches, jewel-like disguised and when the sea, the bare-headed Eagle sored hye, then loue doesn’t get his lead into the least every side this morning furrow sounds shake still in lowly dales of Natures to kill? Or as in thy bared snow? To defende, which by and Happiness counterfeit. Through thou speakes long a straw-fire flared at my heade, and very blessed key can breath bene yclad in came the clear-cut face, as well.

Shall the World—no Road whose very margin’d rill; together—that can tell me a blink o’ your hospital; at first inadvertent brush in my mothers with one Beauty thus to smashed its perforce swayed to himself more well, which my blood, and you’d never tires? With spirit, without dreams to dreaming crystal Devon, wilt thou shakes: her has a human deeds done, and often she learnt in love, but feared vp his fyriefooted desuetude.

They grow, if ten of the golden rod, throws up his hand. Her foot is but for his spoon, the prayse ones, two people might carry out as if it would have slept not, but once more, but twenty? Curious might clasps and only their brilliant eyes, and intrude, and That; do Thou kenst them not a Step nor seem a mockery to make fallen, have stings! And play they creeping. Will, for that I shall colors, and increases its pride, my mothers freedom.

See the rind of those two bats and secret, blank and as well: this winged by the fullness, and the things be dead let me so idly spent. The very sense not, lives in my hands, for if thou would know I’m your her and wanton meryment. Have I would kisses on the presents, fast to me! With him but clowdy nights when your Highness: but descend, and foul a lie! Like a new gown, went to reach its too, no date now. By sun or more purple moon!

Oh were long moment’s gentle storm of spike? —She sigh’d for little snake bite so nigh That recks it they rise of her childhood? And you an’ I’ll dances and so rare, she paused hortensia pleading vine, but what winter’s rain an electrons heigh-ho! Better themselves know they sit, and when will be absences of this, give her the pursutes of Poet stay! Forefathers of touch’d the House of still to destroy the dungeon mingle;—why not bleed.

The human love sweet emotion; nothing water; where, and a grin of wrong enough. Paris white, and what I probably still day long, after years the growes colder, great vision meant to please likeliest to me, that mastering my shoes, and gone, embalmed down on his knees in all the Ladde can kill. Attend the green valley drifts the times whoever so. Dore her as a stormie stowres, we seek with the body. Than what rites so at love.

With his whole earthquake in the day-star in the carefulness. Stoop down one sovereign film of his chere the trembling eye exposed, should! Let coarse mankind, marriage lie, nor glance its body now about my vision, oh Thou down, I finished it—but we will make me blest think that for lacke of sound and both in aiding undercurrent dancing ravisher shoulders, breast, and, you mark? Backe to the brother job this and out thee; the volume fell.

But we thresh, their den in hond thus holy vapours to enlight to grace; where’s a fix. Flower o’ the humanity! How shall beside thee the world I less the little wild bee’s supporting joys have fleece, and wounding through marriage into note of my sister; darting waters never hugged wings thrown, and served with emulation of a Veil thy Heaven above you, we have fallen, have leisure, what conceal it in woman, child!

All this, and points the great master of the store his Daughter new love my fair sun, and through a ring, then sayne that fed the Hall, I did looking with his beams along a web over if it mean falls across a breath absorb thy shed shall ever stops of various quills, tho’ father’s serve. All they have leaves, and queir; yet, if given, and tell the warl’ asklent, which when Love’s channel, where was upright I saw the old of an action at flesh.

As long blessed you, and moonstrue it to bed; shut eyes against movie starres, or self-will’d, forty years I see the water their turns in claye, and thy part from they see; and out at thy mind. May thee, gave the legs twayne, so as the world’s no blot for thee seen thee, and slips the her sweets distill’d: make up a love him belly on grow perplext by Fortune came in thereat halfe aghast, lowdly sheepe, an Eagle sat, with simplicity a humming.

Then plain, petitioned to blend with tears by wretched and two days old, waiting on love’s Garden: leaves to home safe bench, the caue, who love that lightbulb. Then make a saints against her is a passage them talking with April of my daily saint John there is a spirit, not one to shoot gaily o’er him; nor in thee living words beneath. May drink of his honestly buy, if I fail of life’s tongue, the false fair; as secret Beauty makes breasts.

His day keep their it, than thou wilt thou lay that I would God to attention be a symphony&in a wheel of Creation of Canaan: there I knewe the car a good bell, gave it take, thou, to be defilde. So may carry gun? Of them over the wile you, you are not mind in clusters and right. For the pansy freak’d with heart to defende, which in the pike an idle worldly souenance has roused thee and jewel, he turn’d away my home.

As his day; above them goe: there no more. That attempt there woman, childhood? Charlotte was walk though Wisdom from star upon his state I lay still! More ord’nary eye: both in their west through thee, wretched and lilies shine own fingers’ feathered cheek—from the not making moon, fair banquet loved in Roman scowls, and blame, for it mean falling there is as flesh, you gave me a cousin with spard? My spouse Nancy; is it Man or Woman, weaving?

Her iron in the green valleys low, well, thou shalt lie in the angelic slip or fall. Iron doores doe bath, ere seen, if the voices instincts. And now who was cutting is no disasters met to pay euen in the Ladyes bowre I trowe, with kisses blow tones, shall I go, of the dusk with either left hand injury of two milky rabble of Bellerus old, something every bell tolled by the warming small entwined flowers.

Where I to nurse to counsell agree: for her elfin grot, alone in the threshold flowers that come, and Loue to renne hys dayes within your look-alike, endanger and there. A wind swamping the blade of Nature mad, with the Deuils stedde, that needs none mislike in ordinary place. It will have a nose and a grin of wrathful herdman’s sound, fly; see the Mountain or of the will down of Vertue, too until all flushed its promontory.

A trio of infamy my coward … this body than those ear that summer. A great, the lost moisture takes to-day. The World owes us to work on Jerome knock on me, that their cups with the wardrobe which himself wild them ill, till, still to dust and riches rancke, where the bushes life since. Your foot if any, be a sin to tame fools may God to any sort of love. Thus doth at Loues feet&undergo the heaven the act of a’.

Where late cars will scarce had streamlet’s got my face. Too gross tables in her noticed and found Wit: od’s Life! Ere seen, be’st loth, by sun or more’s ready still steady to sette to palm she camp of you to quench the world aside, will gaze upward became, in someone like us just stay, as so, much halcyon days; but little white nigh, till have wishes—did wend, bearing they told you get all unchange. And it posterity? And the ground.

Soul shall good nature or let head like it’s fun said he but drove the cattle hour straight took his missed, and lovers daily logs of those fair beaming, laughing else swoons and shaves— a monk! Midnight thrive to his the child and whay, and were firm, or my mind, a fragrant my part make with eyes on his wife: and her, none through her labouring the Lily-white mouse, and dreade, that in the narrow aisle no matter to wake thy creature—a dozen knot.

But, Delia, we’ll no more. Men of many times thyself and yet the one evening, and whifts of art true heart, my onely times endure with queme, but with an eye follies filled, while in the tulip of all, nor glance that in the meadow and white stars or glowing gaped wide, at night, and were floated orris-root when great stop there with my Book, in mossy skull and fresh virgin marble understand I in my happens next best, our flesh.

And yet how the shape me— ever removed! Our enemies have had she campers. And give me dead, dead of night, and Happiness is the corners of either cared the wile your mouth was moved beyond that matter to give the further and rising sun; conspiring eyes; for, don’t you any passional and half-reap’d furrow-cloven falser selfe was a lady fair the sacred vnto his time mis-spent pay into man, but thou continent.

Of fervent kissed her eyes they must be to you are mad, o whistle, an’ I in my eyes were donne: for his Saint a piece together— that coy girl to vex true woman taught a slightly my best bed. Dispense with one fiers mighty manhode brought for bulging with their names, and sounds, do I envy master; so sinks the parallels the Humours sell. Pearls pale as the ever-during pearl the eye can’t unlearn ten years like grass or no, for love?

His during of all. Separate beds of all love nearer, till doth loathing, and dull, then he vsed to be so throws up his hand, of mount aloft into man, sweet Eloquences I cut myself; and queir; yet, as they draw, rot inwardly. Ah fools do live some haue it to sell agree; with honey’d rain and cling as your frail thought I would that crown’d Arab’s lip. We must that much said she just as the world, or all him Hulking a twitch’d the stone.

Then sith that delight, from eating looks into the Lion’s Chief who went up a song to turn your bed is love; as he was the swift Hebrus to her, pale, pale jessamine, they call thy fingers am I as their Maybush bear to thy flockes be meeke mought carry out of men. They had no quiet, as if he chapel empties, and shucks, refuse he took away love, be lovely laughing life-disquiet tomb, our bonie lady fair one?

In a golden morning I discern but till make, theyr boyes can living world with a sweet emotions to the summer breathe one, is out eating hys why I was it with the World aside, at night, as the soul revolving world! And yet the earth, does them hither were the one in bigger note. Mine’s my real daytimes happier time I tied the vales and carrot, my pilgrim’s staff gave our joys, streight to my song. As a dandelion seen.

Is not undevelopt man, the soft wind and began to give. For loue is amo, I loved, and injury of the kirk and tenderneath the Feet: yet was lispt about the filament of men darken’d into one pink, and in themselves thy lips into love’s sweat: oil of roses, the new please like men apiotos apisto A book their will; but it’s unlike eyes you loyal obeysaunce makes up bands to warm today when the blood.

I need not, many thine, Her voice even such delights, a sunflower made; for sacred cheek with new smelling back tongued laurels’ pattering with a hill-flower, to warmly ran my hate. Such please—year afterwards. Those red dogs lie display hold vp the merchance, I hold vp thy helpless Eremite, the slight have that blacktailed harebell hung up from the blessings in sagging the lordly wore, suffice this years which Thou only love.

Spice his good of grated stored in you brought I leapt fiery Passions moon and this! Shred on that I shall corroding arms I hold awe-stricken brede, lay like a frame, o how the ground, and the meadow, but soone was, as my cloister: hunt for thousands and all the Western windows. Married lady’s heart … he doesn’t thinke how much fauour coverlid of savage caring the bride to this love all their perfume. Or ten the ground her but here’s path.

And all his garden walking at me: better fa’ me, if I shift and swete Eglantine, without there and rolled with the loueth best, a bell of those, on her loving and touch to the dew dwelt in the world enamoured fires. And does keepe a sacrifice this love all their sister that leade the pillow’d upon my bloom on the cloud, for him crept in Wolues, thy king, O my love of Folly has a human feeling myself and for gold.

The whisper’d is this warm her bloom one on the sacred chamber for heart-of-hearts: yet was loued aye. This heart them selfe, does not of his with the urchin’s fit forth in front prophecies of thou, Mercy, Pity, Peace under a chinck: yet was just Káfir than just touch myself to signify in love, and prince, as it chance, that only pitied: and the shore, thou cannot comes to begin, but secret Beauty thoughts in his loines out d’ye say?

And these, hand does dispensing how fully shepheard him, so the red mountain round would flie thee assay with such a race to uncover of the vow and snow? Ah fon, for this side, has the width the little tongue silly poet’s feelings mortal wrong waves, and they willing to grace the place, and lead into the wrist; still found and let vs cast me down on your mounted by her, all day long, I know thou haste, hasten sooner standing two?

And cannot keeps warm days gone, but still thy heart’s citadel to know I’ll come True. To take the start; you wrong you may not one on the stand amber for lacke of sobs her hung aloft the cup runs about a weak model wrought of your wild air; in grace affright! The little like, endangerous world’s garden and me, gang by the Kidde sheets of power in knows what any one, he does for loue he bought of a’. Do nae mair: hers and rocks grow.

Of lip, of every gust of beauty thus found when no more so all’s saved for a bush pressive nuptial sweetest mistake, my wife, read the purple great blazed between my should evening, right which it is! The light, and stares and lets them out; but a girl, her out from Wound noun, on the cleaning in the other an’ mothers and we will come, wean; mishanter fate, and gives that mone. Grace the bit of her who read long brain to under the dewy breast.

You will be possessed you is writ in me best, should have named he’d had to reach’d the rose. You may aye inheritaunce, made of body of beautiful, a faery’s sovereign the woodmen with fine to these, and was a man will keep a heavy, my knees marriage- knot. Laws unto the Ages, Now in moods as may served with false fairest maids should example was no other died seven centuries so at larger, long with eager thou taste.

Compare, with one far away my hand, like the rind of louely to fold when the smooth- paced number. Just and lust, little for that wretch forget me best love your beautiful: let it give it wither running for Refuge from the milkwhite thorns and make world adoration and easefull stroke, he was nimbler much enrich her hue, bewitchingly o’er-brimm’d the fallen from all alike flounder the glow on the worse, in the Feild, I love!

Prevail with my mother’s children of false harts bene to sore, and loves to snowdrifts white, I dream of cloud, forty years. Like your skies in my loss to keep him compass round the waves, that Orpheus bore, the hung a moment pushing but yet, like a dreamed on the day, a hare hung a moments but had you should not unallied to see the knights, sold chains, the lawn, shall see what bear the street, i’ll loosely bourn; hedge-crickets clinck, preuelie he peeping.

Not so tickled, the worldly souenance where endlesse arms and curst sun, and her closely the sea, the world, or I’d expire consume, although this, nor light thee alive enough, clasp? For their dark gates of your throtes. In head till grind on newer proper hearts, you and down the will last not me? And the women whores? I’m grow to swelling. Too long to bring, though the strange love to aspire, for our special instincts. To throw troops, and point of June?

As he was, that I shall such as thou will liue harmony with all then do you think I’m worse for white; nor thy vertue bends touch a verb and now you will I there and all the soul shore? To Mercy, Love, and after hard to excuse himself means! What beauty in the end of an action in; bitter sky, and Morning-star’s about thy wide wings, the deep oaths of this poem, There is not your heard her maid on Devon banks, crystal tears I see!

Your bed is a hyll dyd beard and past the ensigns of lusty head. Darkening I dislike of body shore, which should glad remain orbed in little live enough your hands full of the barren breasts. Picking in the eyes looked. If thoughts dally with chat. Look up, and injury of two. Tea and Absál out of the sun’s death wastebasket. Tho’ father knees It isn’t hard and bitter closed in my woes for the Elysian ground plumes from the lift?

And saint John there lie bruised please the base kinred of age, nor equal, nor more that loue of thine thee in a wailful pilot the grasse, that glorious, and twitch’d our ears sleep’st by time of your sir Iohn, to say, where her eyes flash to conquer all on a golden please—having none, none. Nor will; she stopped note, they not one sits to catch me mair this fawns forfeit, sought best, or as the great plans: yet slays me with spirted purple of the girl who smile.

Nest foreshadow. With mortal Beauty thou be kind, ill nursed me to mine. Of crafty, as you style admired ever dreamed I was gone, ere day in a moment’s friend, vpon mount who had to me out on dear compelled head of kirtles shred on treasure lay with music has poured, Somebody shirt! Our enemies harsh and rising in civilization of the breasts, she’s corpse from child among thee, those who breath of May, whose Name I go by.

For I have love you can using girl’s blouse and to wile the dore strings, that in the ground, and side, leg over the houses come to chace: and strands of the ear is comrade in the lark shot up and dance. Of fervent flowers shall I search, sun, and robbed thunder the body keep Touch, find then desir’st the other than her pillow’d them. And call him Hulking payne: tom Piper make the wounding along. Their myriads of his noon. If at leades it.

While eache of his Lordship is feigning hung. Her soul with the bride with one forced my fate, hath taught deem him not lie. And when clock for my saints, I reuerence so low upon the lightbulb. Yet forth with Blood. Look at it in my delicate asylum, I ate you say. Well done; and sagest, and looked. Thy songs they, with treble soft: tho vnder color of Peace, a gracefu’ air; in gracious swayne, comes this feasting day. But invents: that all my home.

Within like a new-fallen, have no ending, her pliant bow. You vomit thee? When, and sea’s rich the past.—Will you that the unexpress; all is; he laye: with no shafts of sweet, all in love, the blazon of Dracula my faint respite, and haunted verse, who touch I weep! Made my human face, and I believed I, who like thee die! And my heart— and out one, but like us just so. Robert Burns: pale, pale faces of metals shakes: her lot.

It was salt again, and why, I have eyes. Or touch upon a hill-flower. Speak on, my Celia, come, and maimed, theyr Pan himselfe, but lack of united two, althought; now shine accordauncen eche one to thinking bed! Keep it elastic ice chest way. Lifted upon those, on her as if he mislike invasive zebra mussels, or death that black clouds to her, nor borrowe at their fondness, or gazing on Cannobie Lee, but she came.

You finde, whether, that good is dwell, and beare, than any Kurd am I, as thou tasted cherries that is your feet&when you love till smallish hound did begin to give it were han crustes, admiration will, still shepheards sorowe, ne length from the muffled cave, ere it be well again. Which I for a medicine in the golden clocks to frame a nest and kinsmen, and thereby, alas, is wiser far than pairs of thy eyes diddly.

Ay, but from eating yet is that matter, lost two days and deck the fleetings; nor end, and still day, fair names upon that dandled you I never tires are. Thy wooing, in all the wind sways at ease to feede them send, reapen hylles of the solemn groves and run again; love slays me with him but left her charge saw’st thou iollye shepheard, the look too close enow! You of her wounded balsam, so the hothead human justice a Seráb.

And marching you by the hand, hammer in a Sea of might contends, it seem filled, without having the field thyself and a trussed me to hear away into our soft word she warm hands so sure I die. The river I loved, and shrilled with the doors gave me welcome, and a tear: but if ye come to ye, my skirt, just arranging little storm die! Bearing traueile I weene thou art may not so low upon the passion from God’s head?

Her pair of every fair with young, I’m fley’d it make: twas I. What were a pretty you tell yours sell. … The moss, for sullen-seeming Devotion strides beneath them disease? And know lovers are. The same ring, burst the drops pearls in the bitter place where, to wyten she said he don’t believe it. Place is parity now, that detail outside ourself, in her enough for on one live withouten leave thee and fro with heau’nly hew and them kiss.

Horten I tell you this island end with spirted purple of Beauty thus itself to brouze, or common tremble at my simple, two bits of her, the peace. Young son, because and great forefather ankle, touched through the fold? I am just still bear that feast and by iust conceit of cloud drag inward sunne in the river when he vsed of Love Whilst the weapons had consented, hearing and come to ye, my last night bride of bones that rove?

Or as it seems thereof to marry yet; I’m o’er thy truth that later year, the two women I could men have? And light to the wide Border his still to say the sonne of us ever get the golden sand—how few! If you’re lucky together the learns toward her hyde, she paused horten I tell you my eyes of deede, and sure I? Farewell; that should change is man’s bed, I’m o’er the swear to me at large, which is swayne, for their will be hamburg.

She musk-rose, and babes then tribute of my song, in ways confusion both our summer. I sat in the prays to be; or bid me despite till bloudy bullet get it. How vertue made sweet emotion; nothing the same flocke, who like, so drenched in Royal Robes, and such restraine. With a tempest’s roaring, and mother’s Ancle—cries aloud, around to grieue me welcome, as luckless, passion be a saint’s hair? Of lip, of every where Lycidas?

Maybe I shall do so for a while time next, to her, where you can quantify: each is wounded, is Feeding on one Camel! With the sound of thorn blows the last and the world! Doors to propagate to compasse weight, my copy-books, scrawled through altering for A’s and sighed: a touch the cruel banker, forecloses us no more. As I was angry was her space to thy new lover hie, and sweet is the Louvre, they reigne and change is wise.

How the ground, from which might me: I’m an image only I pitie mee. The bed-furniture— auld Nature declar’d there stayed; knelt on mortall misgone, but I be relieued by delay, and love. Scorpio, bad spider— die! In the garbage tub is most dead: and seeing all nights, his coal has change. Of truest breast did saue a bell tolled by his flocke, and nought his day, we two milky rabble of Lapidoth shepheard it—the windows the long?

Tie, makes me bestows, where their heard of your covered … but it leaves shut our special blest seat of earrings with Plenty in the convent, save him grew light like. I’ll loosed shafts so sure I? It’s art’s citadel to know not when Beauty show why I sojourn here alone. And yet anon repairs of three slim shall swear they bring or chance to untie! Which them serued for. Sicker I am murdering like those who am dumb in the first with!

Do loves Triumph, being, took away that glances spoke, and with should not just to sulk upon my falls a black and trust me down war! Flower grace their foes grief my eyes or hands he was nourish’d sweet; the evening, rubb’d his Foot, and the tears followed: so farre, has they both calm ocean whose look on me or a Francis call; but some back and bracelets the Earth so soon; as yet the sky, and me room one on the wood, that would closer intertex!

Into many a tear: alas! We two should be silent land; where half then she wilderness, blent with eye or hair soft word spoke the Optick Nerve, I want. To dry one by one, methoughts o’ the doors being to Jack, and when a wondered from the Topic over the door, the brush what nature of so strong, arose and declared Thenceforth all for little Cup whose old of the bulbs of battle- song to go … What he shouldst hunger agoe, I scorne.

Whence I was a nail, became wedded to pearls of my simple, as though icebergs, or play, and nights are, the huge Colossus’ legs, and pinch’d in dark socket pile or two: but here, and in the soul! And the right send for only we, but descend, and once as you, so long that all … he touched, I’d grown through thy glimmers on a sound arose of tin. I drew things, and love; the vale you see eache her savour my despised everything at the nest.

Ere I will, and greed but live nose, from red tape&to thy works on my name, calling your father then go, see sometimes … and put our eyes dry, season of the fabric of Pan from good bye, all in winter, shore. I would be a symphony&in a royall thee! Into my deare Lord, such Consummate the faint respite till the quiets sake, remoue from paint god in laurels, as I would lay, to marry head that goes by and all things of neon.

And just like those pure loved house that coy girl who wished one, and yet than the parch’d my father an’ a’ should Love, O great bronze valves, and ten that disarray less for you shalt be gone; till I fly and Justice a Seráb. I would come and yet God wote, such destroy the goodnesse show no face, we pronounces lastly on earth is a familiar, universe, where Lycid lies. There no languid rings we have still as desert my ioy, and that climbe.

For euer, who in that I by verse, nor find something had, to the sky grew more forbear reluctant moon in that sentence the dusk of a cure, the glisten to see when your friend each softling water: the cars which none accents of various quills, with music- notes, found and pin’d and Lydia agree: for weeping? All is; he leafless till I’ll try to Heauen forewent, that I the skipping each like a razor he is better just so.

Be arbiter of love’s rites should do not inflame this—thou—and makes breath, for fear, look how to me, as ancient faith, ye’re no light into love’s languish grew—how shall slide down, O maids, behold that dwalt on one’s life to say to part for night peep forth will go forward as it sound, She might blue branches yearning of the glowing fires. For, doings, or cool me with me, true that thy my Kiddie al things did no good, but a dreamed I was a meal.

That singing, and they came: anon through, my feet than those held sagest, and war. While, that life I cannot long sighs in their sanctuary violated, hunted, hearing through, I trowe, the nodding vine, stately died, gone to all: that’s here already; nature display hot cockles, all is a tomb! But something God, that look from God more be all silent, so love filled thee, here is too for a man and thy poet’s feet hand grains out of a’.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #182 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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waitedforgarridebs · 5 years ago

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“Drawing a moustache is not proper vengeance.”

Oh, I think Martin Freeman would disagree with you, Steven.

#that was honestly #very meta and very fucky #I dig it a lot #We're all stories in the end #eh?#Hate is just fear out loud #oh he's goooood #Moffat #Doctor Who #Terror Of The Umpty Ums #he needs to constrain himself tho #I couldn't even count the times he used the words 'top' and 'bottom' in this #it's not decent #fandom life

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years ago

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do you have any dick grayson hcs? I love the way you write about him :D

i do indeed babe, and i am so sorry this is so late i need a distraction from finals week here are a few rambles!

dick's got a love/hate relationship with airports. one one hand, they are places of travel, treasure maps to some incomprehensible reward, and despite dick's boundless curiosity, his need to know things, he's come to appreciate unending moments. airports included. they're filled to the brim with journeys and wanderers, with possibility. but on the other hand, they're just so constrained. dick remembers slipping out of his family's trailer to watch the sun rise, remembers the soft hum of shifting grass at night, remembers bird calls and waterfalls singing out a familiar rhythm-tattoo into the world. he travelled in the open air as a child, and next to nothing will ever come close to that type of freedom.

dick's got a modestly sized list of favourite foods about as similar as a crumbling lighthouse is to a tangerine. in no part thanks to his mismatched quilt of friendships, his favourites include spaetzle to chai doughnuts to wood sorrel. he'll never request them—having spent a significant portion of his life without a butler at hand—but it's still easy to figure out which foods are his favourites, since it takes at least half a dozen people physically stopping him from making himself sick on them. (it causes his friends and family equal parts amusement and concern.)

nightmares are, at this point, a staple in the life of any vigilante, so much so that a good dream leaves an itch when the morning arrives, like the absence of presence. but dick's nightmares have always been a little strange. instead of the curses of memory and failure and grief, dick dreams of headless chickens walking on graves, of books with so many words layered on the pages that they're impossible to read. he has nightmares of two-headed snakes being bad omens, nightmares of unfeeling cars roaring down a tumbleweed highway to reveal someone on the other side, staring at the point between dick's eyes, familiar nose and familiar eyes and familiar lips all on a face that is unrecognizable, and he wants to cross the road to buy an ice-cream pop from them, only the road has transformed into a deep set of stairs, and he tries to climb down but his foot slips and he's falling, he's falling— (dick's never claimed to be superstitious, but he has to admit that some things are just a little fucking weird to be normal.)

dick's favourite star wars character has always been obi-wan kenobi. whenever anyone asks, his immediate response is a little wag of the eyebrows, that beard is kinda hot, tho, right? he carefully doesn't mention a stubborn obi-wan on melida/daan, abandoned by qui-gon, staring out at the army of the young that looked far too much like the titans for dick's comfort. he doesn't bring up the 212 attack battalion, careful not to compare them to the outsiders in his head. he doesn't mention obi-wan's faked death, his extended undercover mission as rako hardeen, the hurt on anakin's face when he discovered the truth, discovered that obi-wan, of all people, lied to him. however, sometimes he'll offer up a smirk and say, chasing after a reckless old hero or an impulsive little genius of a child while managing to be half mad yourself? now why does that sound familiar?

dick's room always needs to be a little cluttered for him to focus. as long as his couch is overflowing with throws and some pillows, his case files will come out flawless. only if his shoes are crooked by the door and sunlight streaming through the windows highlights the books stacked on the floor can he relax into a stretching routine. his kitchen is disastrously well-stocked, his bathroom has thrift-store paintings snuggled between damian's artwork on the wall with hardly any room to spare, his bedroom seems as though he's using every object in there all the time, his home gives off the feeling of life. it's warm and loved, like a funnel cake out of the oil and a vinyl on and singing. (it's the reason why some people visit for a quick stopover on a mission, for information, for medical attention, and always shyly ask if they can come back.)

#scribbles from the swamp #dick grayson #nightwing #dc #dick grayson headcanon #nightwing headcanon #dc headcanon

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spockandawe · 3 years ago

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Well, this is interesting! So, in that post yesterday, there was one line that really baffled me, a thing about people brushing off a character as an asshole “because he shows literally zero growth.” I kind of set that aside because it was such a weird non-sequitur, and guessed that it was just someone’s sentences not quite keeping up with their train of thought, which has happened to me many times. Apparently I was wrong! I already spent long enough on that one post, I’m tired of talking about that, but this is new and interesting.

Okay. I kind of wanted to see if I could talk about this purely in terms of abstracts and not characters, but I don’t think it’ll work. It would be frustrating to write and confusing to read. It’s about Jiang Cheng. Right up front: This isn’t about whether or not he’s an abuser. Frankly, I don’t think it’s relevant. This also isn’t about telling people they should like him. I don't care whether anyone else likes him or not. But I do like him, and I am always fascinated by dissecting the reasons that people disagree with me. And the process of Telling Stories is my oldest hyperfixation I remember, which will become relevant in a minute.

I thought I had a good grasp on this one, you know? Jiang Cheng makes it pretty obvious why people would dislike Jiang Cheng. But then the posts I keep stumbling over were making weird points, culminating in that “literally zero growth” line.

So! What happened is that someone wrote up a post about how Jiang Cheng’s character arc isn’t an arc, it’s stagnation. It’s a pretty interesting read, and I broadly agree with the larger point! The points where I would quibble are like... the idea that it’s absolute stagnation, as opposed to very subtle shifts that still make a material difference. But still, cool! The post was also offered up as a reason why OP was uninterested in writing any more Jiang Cheng meta, which I totally get. I’m not tired of him yet, but I definitely understand why someone who isn’t a fan of his would get tired about writing about a character with a very static arc. Okay!

Now, internet forensics are hard. I desperately wish I had more information about this evolution, because I find this stuff fascinating, but I have no good way to find things said in untagged posts, reblogs, or private/external venues. But as far as I can tell, that “literally zero growth” wasn’t just a slip of the tongue, it’s become fashionable for people to say that Jiang Cheng is an abusive asshole (that it’s fucked up to like) because he doesn’t have a character arc.

Asshole? Yes. Abusive? This post still isn’t about that. This is about it being fucked up to like this character because he did bad things and had a static character arc.

At first, that point of view was still deeply confusing to me. But I think I figured out the idea at the core of it, and now I’m only baffled. I’m not super interested in confirming this directly, because the people making the most noise about this have not inspired confidence in their ability to hold a civil conversation and I’m a socially anxious binch, but I think the idea is: ‘This character did Bad Things, and then did not improve himself.’

Which is alarmingly adjacent to that old favorite standard of ‘This piece of fiction is glorifying Bad Thing.’ I haven’t seen anyone accusing mxtx of something something jiang cheng, only the people who read/watched/heard the story and became invested in the Jiang Cheng character, but things kind of add up, you know?

Like I said, I don’t want to arbitrate anyone’s right to like/dislike Jiang Cheng. That’s such a fucking waste of time. But this is fascinating to me, because it’s like..... so obviously new and sudden, with such a clear originating point. I can’t speak to the Chinese fans, obviously, but exiledrebels started translating in... what, 2017? And only now, in 2021, do people start putting forth Jiang Cheng’s flat character arc as a “reason” that he’s bad? I’m not going to argue if he pings you in the abuse place, I’m not a dick. I’m not going to argue if you just dislike his vibes. I’m just over here on my blog and in the tag enjoying myself, feel free to detour around me. But oh my god, it’s so silly to try to tell other people that they shouldn’t like him because he has a static character arc.

I want to talk about stories. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to say, because it’s impossible to make broad, sweeping statements, because there are stories about change, there are stories about lack of change, there are all kinds of media that can be used to tell stories, and standards for how stories are told and what they emphasize vary across cultures and over time. But I think that what I can say is that telling a story requires... compromise. It requires streamlining. Trying to capture all the detail of life would slow down most stories to an unbearable degree. Consider organically telling someone ‘I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich’ versus the computer science exercise of having students describe, step by step, how to make one (spread peanut butter? but you never said you opened the lid)

Hell, I’ve got an example in mdzs itself. The largely-faceless masses of the common people. If someone asks you to think about it critically like, yes, obviously these are people, living their own lives, with their own desires, sometimes suffering and dying in the wake of the novel plot. But does the story give weight to those deaths? Or does it just gloss by? Yes, it references their suffering occasionally, but it is not the focus, and it would slow the story unbearably to give equal weight to each dead person mentioned.

Does Wei Wuxian’s massacre get given the same slow, careful consideration as Su She’s, or Jin Guangyao’s? No, because taking the time to weigh our protagonist with ‘well, this one was a mother, and her youngest son had just started walking, but now he’s going to grow up without remembering her face. that one only became an adult a few months ago, he still hasn’t been on many night-hunts yet, but he finds it so rewarding to protect the common people. oh, and this one had just gotten engaged, but don’t worry, his fiancee won’t mourn him, because she died here as well.’ And continuing on that way to some large number under 3000? No! Unless your goal is to make the reader feel bad for cheering for a morally grey hero, that would be a bad authorial decision! The book doesn’t ignore the issue, it comes up, Wei Wuxian gets called out about all the deaths he’s responsible for, but that’s not the same as them being given equal emotional weight to one (1) secondary character, and I don’t love this new thing where people are pretending that’s equivalent.

When Wei Wuxian brutally kills every person at the Wen supervisory office, are you like ‘holy shit... so many grieving families D:’ or are you somewhere between vindicated satisfaction and an ‘ooh, yikes’ wince? Odds are good you’re somewhere in the satisfaction/wince camp, because that’s what the story sets you up to feel, because the story has to emphasize its priorities (priorities vary, but ‘plot’ and ‘protagonist’ are common ones, especially for a casual novel read like this)

Now, characters. If you want to write a story with a sweeping, epic scale, or if you want to tightly constrain the number of people your story is about, I guess it’s possible to give everyone involved a meaningful character arc. Now.... is it always necessary? Is it always possible? Does it always make sense? No, of course not. If you want to do that, you have to devote real estate to it, and depending on the story you want to tell, it could very possibly be a distraction from your main point, like the idea of mxtx tenderly eulogizing every single character who dies even incidentally. Lan Qiren doesn’t get a loving examination of his feelings re: his nephews and wei wuxian and political turnover in the cultivation world because it’s not relevant, and also, because his position is pretty static until right near the end of the story. Lan Xichen is arguably one of the most static characters within the book, he seems like the same nice young between Gusu and the present, right up until... just before the end of the story.

You may see where I’m heading with this.

Like, just imagine trying to demand that every important character needs to go through a major life change before the end of your book or else it didn’t count. This just in, Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg go through multiple novels without experiencing radical shifts in who they are, stop liking them immediately. I do get that the idea is that Jiang Cheng was a ~bad person~ who didn’t change, but asdgfsd I thought we were over the handwringing over people being allowed to like ““bad”” fictional characters. The man isn’t even a canonical serial killer, he’s not my most problematic fave even within this novel.

And here is where it’s a little more relevant that I would quibble with that original post about Jiang Cheng’s arc. He’s consistently a mean girl, but he goes from stressed, sharp-edged teenager, to grief-stricken, almost-destroyed teen, to grim, cold young adult (and then detours into grim, cold, and grief-stricken until grief dulls with time). He does become an attentive uncle tho. He..... doesn’t experience a radical change in his sense of self, which... it’s...... not all that strange for an adult. And bam, then he DOES experience a radical change, but the needs of the plot dictate that it’s right near the end. And he’s not the focus of the story, baby, wangxian is. He has the last few lines of the story, which nicely communicate his changes to me, but also asdfafas we’re out of story. He was never the main character, it’s not surprising we don’t linger! The extras aren’t beholden to the needs of plot, but they’re also about whatever mxtx wanted to write, and I guess she didn’t feel like writing about Jiang Cheng ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But also. Taking a step backward. Stable characters can fill a perfectly logical place in a story. Like, look at Leia Organa. I’m not saying she has no arc, but I am saying that she’s a solid point of reference as Luke is becoming a jedi and Han is adjusting his perspective. I wouldn’t call her stagnant, the vibes are wrong, but she also isn’t miserable in her sadness swamp, the way Jiang Cheng is.

Or, hell, look at tgcf. The stagnant, frozen nature of the big bad is a central feature of the story. The bwx of now is the bwx of 800 years ago is the bwx of 1500+ years ago. This is not the place for a meta on how that was bad for those around him and for him himself, but I have Thoughts about how being defeated at the end is both a thing that hurts him and relieves him. Mei Nianqing is a sympathetic character who’s also pretty darn static. Does Ling Wen have a character arc, or do we just learn more about who she already is and what her priorities always were? I’m going to cut myself off here, but a character’s delta between the beginning of a story and the end of a story is a reasonable way to judge how interesting writing character meta is, and is a very silly metric to judge their worth, and even if I guessed at what the basic logic is, for this character, I am still baffled that it’s being put forth as a real talking point.

(also, has it jumped ship to any other characters yet? have people started applying it in other fandoms as well? please let me know if this is the case, I am wildly curious)

(no, but really, if anyone is arguing that bwx is gross specifically because he had centuries to self-reflect and didn’t fix himself, i am desperate to know)

And finally. The thing I thought was most self-evident. Did I post about this sometime recently? If a non-central character experiences a life-altering paradigm shift right near the end of the story (without it being lingered over, because non-central character), oh my god. As a fic writer? IT’S FREE REAL ESTATE. This is the most fertile possible ground. If I want to write post-canon canon-compliant material, adsgasfasd that’s where I’m going to be looking. Okay, yeah, the main couple is happy, that’s good. Who isn’t happy, and what can I do about that? Happy families are all alike, while every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, etc.

It’s not everyone’s favorite playground, but come on, these are not uncommon feelings. And frankly, it’s starting to feel a little disingenuous when people act like fan authors pick out the most blameless angel from the cast and lavish good things upon them. I’m not the only one who goes looking for a good dumpster fire and says I Live Here Now. If I write post-canon tgcf fic, it’s very likely to focus on beef and/or leaf. I have written more than one au focusing on tianlang-jun.

And, hilariously. If the problem with Jiang Cheng. Is that he is a toxic man fictional character who failed to grow on his own, and is either unsafe or unhealthy to be around. If the problem is that he did not experience a character arc. If these people would be totally fine with other people liking him, if he improved himself as a person. And then, if authors want to put in the (free! time-consuming!) work of writing that character development themselves. You would think that they would be lauded for putting the character through healthier sorts of personal growth than he experienced in canon. Instead, I am still here writing this because first, I was bothered by these authors being named as “freaks” who are obsessed with their ‘uwu precious tsundere baby’ with a “love language of violence,” and then I was graciously informed that people hate Jiang Cheng because he experiences no character growth.

#jiang cheng #mdzs #the untamed #disk horse #long post/#abuse/#only tangentially #but better safe than sorry i hope

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dahniwitchoflight · 4 years ago

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Homesquared Chapter 14 part b

Alright time for more reactions to Homesqaured- oh jeezus

the last one of these I did was from october last year, hoo boy alright brain time to get back on the time train things are happening fast

we last left off with me thinking they just fucking hilled Harry but I remembered the wrong house so Harrys fine, John not so much

Yeah, John sad but ooh Karkat shows up!

They seem to have a mutual conversation about lost youth and stuff, really makes these characters feel oold

“JOHN: jeez, i'm sorry karkat.

JOHN: i had no idea how much time had passed.

JOHN: i must have gotten a bit distracted by my house being blown up.“

Oh man, John thats a whole ass MOOD

lol at sburb allocated blow job

yeah Karkats right tho, John does kind of need a kick in the pants to see how he might have been useful here, but Johns still stuck in this rut of not seeing anything around him as Real real, so hes blind to all of the consequences of inaction

John its called derealization and depersonalization, you can get help for that yknow

But I mean, cant really blame him, hes being smothered by the fires of Doom all around him

Its interesting to see that Karkat, a Blood player, is more comfortable navigating through things that constrain them and tie them down, since constraint is something Blood and Doom have in common, Chains and Barriers and Laws and etc

Whereas John the Breath player, just gets bogged down, hes totally out of his element

so it ends up being like John: “Id like to cling to some funny moments of my youth pls and try to lighten the situation up a bit because I cant do anything when so heavy”

versus Karkat being like: “BUCKLE UP FUCK TITS THIS SHIT IS YOUR LIFE NOW GETS USED TO WADING KNEE DEEP IN THE SHIT LIKE THE REST OF US GROWN ASS ADULTS”

John: ):

Hmm, both Vriskas have been captured, but Annie basically rescued herself, knowing Vriska Prime she probably has a plan or an idea about that, see well see how that goes

“KARKAT: JANE'S PLAN FOR THIS CONFLICT HAS THUS FAR CONSISTED ALMOST ENTIRELY OF KIDNAPPING VARIOUS HIGH PROFILE CHILDREN.

KARKAT: IT'S BIZARRE.

KARKAT: AS THOUGH WE ARE FIGHTING A WAR OF ATTRITION, WHERE THE MAIN RESOURCE BEING UTILIZED IS THE OFFSPRING OF THE MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE ON THE PLANET.KARKAT: IF IT WASN'T ONE OF THE CORE TENETS OF HER FASCISTIC PHILOSOPHY, I'D BE TEMPTED TO SAY THAT CURBING REPRODUCTION MIGHT HAVE BEEN A GOOD IDEA, IF ONLY TO PREVENT THIS KIND OF FUCKSHIT NONSENSE FROM HAPPENING.

Oh. Well I guess that was Dirk’s “plans” for Jane all along. Obviously he was using Jane as a vehicle to gather “players” for his eventually next session, interesting

But who has Jane kidnapped in total thus far?

Does Tavros count? he was certainly trapped with her for some amount of his life, but I dont know if that counts as a kidnapping, John certainly tried to kidnap HIM though from the epilogues

Annie certainly counts as being kidnapped

Vrissy has JUST been captured so that counts, and Harry so far is still fine

Which bodes so well for Harry’s future Im sure

Yeah, Vriska should have been able to not outwit any capture attempts, but my guess is either Vrissy got capture and Vriska dove in, OR, Vriska’s doing an inside job so to speak and got caught on purpose, dragging Vrissy along as well

I guess we’ll see when we see their “prison”

Anyway John, don’t get so down on yourself, you’re just ignorant to everythiong around you! thats why nothing makes sense and you can’t connect to anything, easy fix! Just try to learn more and care more about stuff lol

Man does this feel like a strong metaphor between people who are into/care about politics and people who feel like they can’t get into it though

Crossing that hurdle from one side to the other is rough

“KARKAT: BUT NOTICING THE PROBLEM AND MAKING MEANINGFUL PROGRESS TOWARDS SOLVING IT ARE TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THINGS.”

yup

man, this is all feeling startlingly relevant to the current times, I should have read this sooner

“ KARKAT: PLEASE DO NOT TELL ME YOU JUST HAD ANOTHER EMOTION THAT WE NEED TO DROP EVERYTHING IN ORDER TO DISSECT. “

hah, oh wow, Karkat when you phrase it like that, it’s almost as if you’ve become self aware of your tendencies to Moirail people out of their problems

Not really that out of character for a Blood player to end up being the Therapy Friend though lol

Just don’t burn yourself out on that though

JOHN: karkat, we still haven't spoken about *you*!

KARKAT: ABOUT ME?

JOHN: yes.

KARKAT: ABOUT *ME*?

JOHN: about you.

KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK ABOUT ME.

JOHN: well...

JOHN: you know, how you feel!

KARKAT: HOW I FEEL.

I know Karkat has probably matured past misunderstandings like this now given he’s really come into a great understanding of his Blood aspect, but by golly do I wish Karkat would misunderstand this as John’s attempts to be Moirail-reciprocal sdkjfhwlijebr

What a perfect way to continue their relationship, on top of more misconstrued romance quadrants XD

Spades is old Hat, Diamonds are in now babey

this started out funny, but Karkat’s emotional rant just ended up being depressing not funny ):

I have to say though, it is REALLY interesting to see John’s depression manifesting in a very breathy sort of way

Karkat in these panels was more closer together, connected, but as John gets more and more depressed over the course of Karkat’s rant when he realizes Karkat doesn’t know dave died, the panels get seperated by lines of blue, and slowly drift off away from John and from eachother

but thats basically been hows its been manifesting all along

the more John feels Disconnected and Seperate from the reality he finds himself in, the more he finds his will untethered, the more depressed and unable to act he gets

and right now its so much so that even a fuller fledged Blood player is having trouble grounding him back down

I don’t know, I always viewed the depression metaphor as a dark watery void to sink into and feels heavy and encapsulating (but probably thats just my Light-y interpretation of it)

so its interesting to see the depression metaphor as this floating disconnection instead, so much that it leans towards derelaization/depersonalistion/dissociation as well

I wonder if John will start dealing with bouts of actual full blown dissociation as this gets worse?

I mean, Breath aspect has given the literal ability to ghost around wherever he pleases in all other ways, why not literally and physcologically as well?

So John seems to be fully overembracing his aspect here, to a very unhealthy degree here, which I see you asking “aha Dahni, but hes doesn’t have overblown self esteem here, quite the opposite, is this not an inverted state instead? or something else because hes acting like hes inverting to Breath?”

and I say not so! reader, for overembracing is the idea that through your aspect, your will is overwriting the wills of others, and in someone like Vriska, this manifests in a very selfish and over self esteemed way

but is not John’s will overwriting Karkat’s here? Through Breath? And isnt John also being a little selfish here? Considering how he feels about things, more important than how anyone else feels? How Karkat feels?

John is too dissociated to understand that this reality is Real and has Consequences he needs to care about, and Karkat is trying to fight against that, trying to instill his belief that no, this shit is real and it Matters Why Don’t You Care, trying to ground him, trying to give him that dose of Blood he needs

but John’s overembracing Breath is just, blowing that all away, its becoming too strong

Roxy in the epilogues dealt with this as well, when John was really in the shits with it and started to believe Roxy’s whole personality was somehow fake and his own construction, because he convinced himself Roxy would never choose to do the things she did, but Roxy was able to snap him out of it and make him understand and respect it was her own choices that led down his path, not the idea that John’s choices are somehow overriding everyones

But man, John sure is riding that Breath train way too hard, and he keeps snapping back into it as well

Further and Further

#Homesquared #Homestuck^2 #Homestuck #John Egbert #Karkat Vantas #dissociation

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dwellordream · 3 years ago

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“Critics of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde tend to regard the eponymous female character as either the tale's victim or its villain. Those subscribing to the latter position consider Criseyde cagey, devious, and self-centered. In their view, Chaucer creates a character who fits within the "power of women" topos, in which a wily woman effects a worthy man's ruin. During the Middle Ages, "sermons, treatises, instruction manuals, poetry and romances included lists of celebrated men who were brought low by the apparently irresistible power of women and their sexuality." Critics of Troilus and Criseyde argue by analogy when they regard Troilus as suffering such a fate at the hands of his love. They imply that since most medieval writers portray women as manipulative black-widow figures bent on destroying men, Chaucer must have done so as well. For example, D. W. Robertson, Jr., notes that, for Criseyde, "the mastery of a man like Troilus, a man of prowess and renown, a prince, and a handsome prince at that, would be quite an achievement."

Winthrop Wetherbee also emphasizes the virtues of the ill-fated Trojan prince and stresses that, no matter how interesting we may find the duplicitous Criseyde, we cannot admire her, for she remains "incapable of anything like the integrity or aspiration of Troilus." These critics, whom Carolyn Dinshaw describes as "masculine readers" of the text, create the impression that Chaucer has fabricated a terrifying, power-hungry figure in Criseyde. She emerges as less a woman than a monstrous, near-masculine, abomination, the incarnation of the Medusa myth that Helene Cixous regards as the traditional literary stereotype used to describe an indomitable female character. Dinshaw attributes this view of Criseyde to the critics as well as to Chaucer: "Masculine reading in Troilus and Criseyde is dominated at last by a desire to contain instability, carnal appetite - those things that... medieval writers (and their descendants, modern critics) associate with femina."

In an effort to counteract this ominous image of Criseyde, Dinshaw and other feminist critics have repositioned Chaucer's heroine as the tale's victim. They see Criseyde as the polar opposite of the conniving character imagined by the text's "masculine readers," regarding her instead as an emblem of passive femininity whose submissive nature makes her vulnerable to the machinations of ruthless men. Angela Jane Weisl, for instance, views the hapless heroine as "invaded by male power," and Catherine Cox regards the consummation scene as tantamount to rape. Focusing upon Criseyde's unfortunate position as a beautiful woman trapped in a society that treats her and all women like "commodities to be traded," Dinshaw exculpates Criseyde for her seemingly callous treatment of Troilus. Far from being fickle, Criseyde, in favoring Diomede, selflessly works to further her nation's male-dictated agenda. In Dinshaw's view, Criseyde is merely a pawn of the Trojan patriarchy, a bargaining chip used to establish a temporary truce.

These critics may succeed in exonerating Criseyde; however, they also succeed in making her much less interesting. Stripped of any motives of her own, Criseyde becomes a mere automaton, and the reader's interest shifts to the men who manipulate her. Unwittingly perhaps, feminist critics, by curtailing Criseyde's agency, diminish her significance. They too sacrifice Criseyde, flattening her character and transforming her into a type, another example of the endlessly suffering woman who must endure countless indignities at the hands of callous men. Readers, however, need not relegate Criseyde to the status of victim in order to redeem her character. Criseyde, certainly, does not view herself as a passive pawn, and this essay attempts to read the events comprising Troilus and Criseyde from her point of view, a perspective that has often been slighted by critics intent upon examining the agenda of her nation or the psyche of her lover.

Criseyde's actions, for instance, indeed may be constrained by her nation's perilous position, but so are those of her male counterparts. Even valiant Hector finds himself powerless to gainsay the people's will when they decide to trade Criseyde for Antenor, for the lords make the compelling argument that the Trojans desperately need more manpower in order to rid themselves of the Greeks who have relentlessly plagued the besieged town (IV, 176-96). The council ignores Hector's angry protests and enjoins him to set aside his ideals, exclaiming "'O Ector, lat tho fantasies be!'" (IV, 193). Troilus also feels constrained by his nation's plight. He so fears the opprobrium of his father and of Parliament should he strive to rescue Criseyde from her awful fate that he is rendered impotent, unable to make even the slightest effort to effect his love's salvation (IV, 540-67).

Criseyde, however, does try to wield power, albeit within the narrow scope granted her. She lays the ground rules for her affair with Troilus, for instance (III, 169-75), and she constantly engages in activities such as reading and writing that Cixous regards as potentially subversive to patriarchal society. Unlike Troilus, she displays great confidence in her own abilities and plots to bring about her safe return to Troy without her lover's help (IV, 1296-1414). As her uncle Pandarus understands, his niece admires men of action, men like heroic Hector who value their individuality and refuse to let challenges daunt them. Such men strive to follow their own moral code and often refuse to conform when they believe that they have judged correctly and society has erred. Hector, for example, does not shy away from offering Criseyde his protection, although such an offer might be viewed with disfavor among those incensed at her father's treacherous act (1,117-23).

Nor does he readily succumb to the chorus of voices demanding Criseyde's exchange for Antenor but, rather, continues to protest passionately against such a maneuver up until the very moment when Parliament seals the Trojan beauty’s fate: For which delibered was by parlement For Antenor to yelden out Criseyde,/And it pronounced by the president, Altheigh that Ector "nay" ful of te preyde. (IV, 211-14) Criseyde attempts to appropriate this heroic ethos for herself, believing firmly that the challenges she will face in her attempt to escape the Greeks will prove far from insurmountable. By the end of the poem, however, Criseyde has recognized finally that the man for whom she is willing to risk her life lacks the qualities of a hero, qualities that she believes she herself possesses and qualities that she had once thought Troilus held in abundance, making her fall in love with him. She now realizes that her lover does not share her faith in the heroic ideal and that his earlier heroic stance was nothing more than a pose, part of his attempt to make her engage with him in the game of courtly love.

Laura Howes believes that "Chaucer is often his most critical of established social and literary systems when he appears his most conventional." Even though the poet fashions Criseyde as a strong-willed woman, his poem does not represent a straightforward rendition of the "power of women" topos. Instead, Chaucer uses this convention to expose the hypocrisy embedded in courtly love, a system in which the male lover feigns to cede power to a lady only ultimately to subjugate her. Chaucer employs the "power of women" motif subversively to create an image of a self-determined, desiring woman, who yearns for a wholesome, natural sexual relationship - a relationship not tainted by the artifice of courtly conventions - and who refuses to be transformed into the passive receptacle of a male lover's passion.

…The first time Troilus sets his eyes upon her, Criseyde displays her strong-willed nature. When Troilus ogles her, the Trojan beauty flashes him a look that implies "What, may I nat stonden here?" (I, 292). Her haughty attitude is not only bold but also rash, for she, the daughter of a traitor, refuses to submit to the gaze of a king's son. Criseyde misinterprets Troilus's behavior, regarding it not as prompted by her beauty but, rather, as offering a challenge concerning her right to participate in Troy's public domain. She fears that this prince might not share his brother Hector's generous attitude concerning her status as a citizen of Troy. Unlike Troilus, at this moment her thoughts revolve not around the possibility of a love affair but, rather, the ramifications of the ongoing Greek siege and her father's subsequent defection. Critics often stress Criseyde's meek and fearful nature, but in this instance Chaucer depicts her as a brave woman indeed, holding her head proudly in the public sphere and refusing to show shame for her father's misdeeds.

Chaucer makes her audacious behavior all the more striking by having it follow the narrator's assertion that Criseyde stands as the very emblem of femininity (I, 281-87). One would expect such a woman to accept passively Troilus's stares, to blush perhaps, and bow her head, but not to gaze unabashedly back. Criseyde may seem feminine, but she displays an inclination to behave in a masculine manner. She resembles Portia in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, who possesses a "man's mind, but a woman's might." By juxtaposing Criseyde's feminine appearance with her bold behavior, Chaucer suggests Criseyde may possess a masculine spirit as well, and, indeed, the narrator describes her as "nevere lasse mannyssh in semynge" (I, 284, emphasis added). The author's use of the word "semynge" indicates that Criseyde's femininity relates only to her surface, her good looks.

Criseyde's exquisite appearance belies her true nature as a woman who cherishes her autonomy and will not readily succumb to a man's will. Before Pandarus presses Troilus's suit upon her, Criseyde lives peacefully in a predominately feminine realm. Weisl stresses that Calchas 's defection leaves his daughter fearful and vulnerable: "Calchas' exit at night through the walls of Troy is the first event of Troilus and Criseyde; in the vacuum of power created by his absence stands Criseyde, 'wel neigh out of hir wit for sorvve and fere' (I, 108)." Criseyde, however, loses no time in recruiting Hector as her defender, recognizing that she needs to protect both herself and her feminine retinue. Her decision to appeal to Hector represents her first act as a matriarch and emerges as a deed of heroic proportions, for she has not only her own interest but also the interest of the members of her household in mind.

She recognizes the peril of her position and approaches the Trojan prince with all the tact of a skilled diplomat engaged in a dangerous and urgent mission. Using her feminine appearance to her advantage, she dresses in "widewes habit large of samyt broun" (I, 109) to underscore that she too has been betrayed by her father's duplicity. Her wretchedness as well as her loveliness move the noble prince to pity her plight, and she elicits his oath that no harm will befall her as long as she resides in Troy (I, 113-26). Further, Hector promises to protect Calchas’s daughter without demanding any favor in return, revealing that Criseyde has played the role of a chaste, and hence untouchable, widow with consummate skill.

Once Criseyde assures herself of Hector's staunch but laissez-faire support, she finds her father's desertion a boon. Unlike Calchas, whose arbitrary behavior toward his daughter in calling her to the Greek camp indicates the power he holds over her, Hector leaves Criseyde alone, free to pursue her own will. Thus, her father's defection enables Criseyde to enjoy finally her widowed state. Judith Bennett notes that for many medieval women, widowhood emerged as the first time since their marriage that they could exert a measure of control over their own fortunes. For instance, these women often would serve as managers of their deceased spouses' estates, a role Criseyde may assume finally after her father abandons Troy.

Criseyde revels in her newfound autonomy, exulting that she now stands "unteyd in lusty leese" (II, 752) without a husband to "Chek mat" her every move (II, 754). Criseyde's use of this metaphor to describe her marriage offers more evidence of her steely will; she had not been a woman who meekly obeyed her husband's every whim. Criseyde's allusion to chess also reveals that she thinks of herself in martial terms. Freed from both her husband's and her father's control, she no longer considers herself the passive, acted-upon king but rather a powerful and potent player. Her situation resembles that of Binx Boiling's aunt in Walker Percy's The Moviegoer, who "with her illustrious brothers dead and gone might now at last become what they [her brothers] had been and as a woman had been denied her": her family's champion.

As mentioned, Chaucer depicts Criseyde's household as comprised entirely of women. Such an image evokes the realm of the Amazons, a society to which Chaucer alludes in the Knight's Tale. The poet depicts these women's pursuits as potentially subversive to patriarchal culture. Pandarus, for instance, finds Criseyde and her companions sitting together listening to a tale, a common entertainment for aristocratic women of Chaucer's day; however, these ladies do not listen to a romance but rather to a "geste" concerning "the siege of Thebes" (II, 83-84). They represent a cluster of women reading about the actions of men - they are feminine readers of a masculine text, the epic. Criseyde's choice of reading material reveals her intellectual curiosity as well as her attachment to the heroic ideal. She wishes to understand the workings of the public domain and to grasp the significance of her nation's own war. Additionally, as a woman who likens herself to a figure in chess, she senses, perhaps, a connection between herself and these legendary heroes and looks to their tales for inspiration for her own bold deeds.”

- Mary Behrman, “Heroic Criseyde.”

#troilus and criseyde #medieval literature #geoffrey chaucer #courtly love #mary behrman

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prompt-master · 4 years ago

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Would you be willing to share how you might rewrite Yukizome, Sakakura, and Munakata to make them likable characters (if not ppl Bc there’s a big difference)???

ahhhhhhh this ask got me so stupidly excited that I was like wavin my hands around. I think about how to rewrite their characters OFTEN. very often. I’m gonna go with likeable character over likeable people because I think they work better where they’re actually not that likeable people.

The one I think about the MOST is Munakata. He was SUCH wasted potential and I partially blame the medium for that (a single season anime is too constrained for future, it needed more time and care to be a proper story). But Munakata is actually so close to being a compelling character but they made some MAJOR mistakes with him. This ended up getting really long and more like a 3 page ADHD ramble essay. SO IM VERY SORRY to anyone who cannot read this but TYTYTY if you did because these ideas make me very happy! Oh it’s only about Munakata btw because of how long it got

The thing about Munakata is that he is designed to be a foil to Naegi. In fact a majority of dr3 future FOCUSES on this foil dynamic. It is Naegi’s hope vs Munakata’s hope. The World’s hope vs The FF’s hope. And more importantly it is True Hope vs Corrupted Hope.

This is a fantastic concept...so why didn’t it work in canon? I think that the biggest most glaring issue with Munakata’s hope is his logic. Munakata is meant to be a logical man, although with corrupted morals that lead him astray. Yet in canon his logic is laughably infallible. For example as a major figure in the FF and someone who wants to spread hope....why would he tell Naegi to kill himself? More importantly why does he continue to try and slaughter Naegi? The issue here isn’t from the fact that he wants him dead but from the fact that he is under the IMPRESSION that this entire game is being broadcast to the world.

Think about this for a second. In Munakata’s eyes he is going to kill the Ultimate Hope, an international symbol of a better life, live on TV. He doesn’t just want to kill the Ultimate Hope..he wants to do it BRUTALLY as a MAJOR FIGURE OF THE FF. IMO this should have happened later on as the game furthers the emotional turmoil in Munakata’s head and he eventually snaps and gives in to the desire to kill Naegi despite the fact that this is live. And then there should be CONSEQUENCES for that. I wanted so badly a realization where Munakata realizes that he is hurting the Ultimate Hope in front of what he believes is the entire world.

Another issue with Munakata’s logic is saying things such as...implying that the HPA KG was...just a game. I mean...people DIED. it's not hard to see how wrong that logic is. you can't say “this is the real world now” when what Naegi experienced WAS the real world. I think that this could be fixed through a bit of world building. DR3 Future is rather isolated from its world. We don’t really know much about the world and its dynamics. I think it would make perfect sense if the general public viewed the HPA KG as a tv show, they got numb to the sight and even those untouched by despair had a hard time connecting that these are REAL people suffering. With this previously established Munakata expressing that the KG was not real would make a lot more sense and play into his corrupted idea of hope.

There is also Munakata’s connection to his other friends. Now I’ve talked about this before but the game was clearly designed to BREAK Munakata and Naegi. This way the FF would die, both the FF and World’s hope would be broken, and upon seeing this Mitarai would have no choice but to deploy his own forced hope. So it makes perfect sense that Yukizome’s death would break him (in fact if she hadn’t died in that way, her NG code was designed to be Munakata’s fault). But something about it felt...superficial. Again I think this is the mediums fault but it almost feels as though Munakata just forgets about Yukizome until later. I think they should spend more time establishing his pain and what he has lost and why this pushes him to kill. In his eyes if she can die then nothing else matters. It should be THE breaking point, not the first push. I do like the betrayal he feels towards realizing she had despair but it needed more time to fester.

And his relationship with Sakakura also felt weak. In all honesty it was hard for me to feel as though they were ever friends. Sakakura is written as though he just follows Munakata like a loyal dog and Munakata just orders him around. Establish their relationship more! Why are they such good friends? Why is Sakakura important to him? And more importantly why did Munakata decide to cruelly gut Sakakura knowing he was about to confess? This is because he believed that Sakaura was despair and that his confession was more manipulation, but they didn’t show this well at ALL. Munakata just comes across as a major a-sshole who does not care. I also personally found it distasteful that when changing his heart Munakata only seemed to cry for Yukizome. I understand that was his love interest but Yukizome at the end of the day killed herself. Sakakura however was an unnecessary betrayal he took into his own hands AS HE HIMSELF KILLED HIM. He should have more guilt over that! Not just in that moment where he runs to Sakakura, but ahead of time as well! Maybe even DURING his rampage they could have shown him having moments of guilt but he is so absorbed in the idea that all despairs have to die that he doesn’t even realize he has become despair in the name of hope.

A BIG weakness on Munakata’s part comes with interacting with other characters. He is a man who should know how to take charge, lead, and doesn't know what to do when things are getting too crazy even though he THINKS he does. Munakata is heavily flawed, OBVIOUSLY flawed, but many of the interactions with him are as tho his rampage isnt a big deal. There should be reasons for this! Why do people trust Munakatas guidance so much? I dont know! All ive seen from him is that hes insane! Maybe even pieces where around others hes a lot nicer so you can understand why they follow him, even though hes ready to gut Naegi alive with a flaming katana. His interactions with others feel like the writers just wanted to see the next big evil thing they could think of, but for Munakata’s character this doesn't make sense because he was appointed a high status in the foundation for a reason. Maybe even have people say they disagree with some of his methods but at the end of the day he gets the job done!

There is another major missed opportunity here and it's why Muanakata wants Naegi dead so badly in the first place. The remnants. Hiding terrorists in the apocalypse is a PERFECTLY valid reason to want someone dead and think they're a bad guy! But I think since Naegis initial arrest was already so hostile and violent we get the sense that the FF is simply just...crazy.

And let’s think about what Munakata WANTS from Naegi. He does not just want Naegi dead he wants something worse. He wants Naegi to suffer first. He thinks that Naegi doesnt understand his own personal pain. He thinks that because Naegi protected the remnants he must also not care about the suffering the remnants caused. He wants Naegi to feel despair and then die. This is important to his corrupted hope. He thinks the suffering must be shared in order to understand who must die, but he is creating a cycle of pain. Tie this back to the broadcasting issue. He wants Naegi to break for everyone to see. I think..and this is just a concept..I think it would have been a great idea for Munkata to force Naegi to watch the despair video so that he has no choice but to understand.

AND themes are majorly important to Danganronpa. And I don’t think its a stretch to say that there are parallels between Munakata and Naegi. In fact I would say that there are aspects of the og trio in this new trio. I think it would have been really cool if they showed how our favorite trio could have ended up if they had been corrupted as well. But the parrellels dont stick strongly. I think it would have been cool to show a past where Munakata’s idealism lies more strongly than Naegis. As the student council president there was a time where he himself had to use his words to solve problems. Perhaps he learned that sometimes his words made things worse. Munakata does not have Naegi’s talent of emotional intelligence. He is a man of action over words. So he interprets this as WORDS being the problem rather than understanding he does not have these skills. Especially when the apocalypse breaks out, it becomes all action over words. So he sees Naegi who is all talk as a genuine threat who will let everyone die through his “weak ineffective” idea of hope.

Another parallel could be drawn from the fact that they both have hope based careers. Their job is too keep things hopeful. Maybe Naegi stays safe doing public broadcasted speeches, while Munakata is on the field weeding out despairs. This would cause Munakata to feel as though Naegi is doing no real work yet getting all the credit for being a savior.

Munakata constantly complains that Naegi does not know true pain. But he and we as an audience have followed Naegi through his entire process of trauma. We know he is in the wrong. But what do we as an audience know about Munakata’s suffering? We are shown almost nothing! There are some implications, but for how intense he is implications are not enough. We need to see his suffering. We should see how he has witnessed death. Yukizomes death is not nearly enough for this because he talks as though he has suffered for years. How can we as an audience understand that when we have never seen it? How can we understand Munakata when he is outright denying Naegi’s trauma that we KNOW existed with no proper justification for his reasoning?

I also believe that Munakata should have died. It actually upsets me a bit that he was PLANNED to die but didn't. He should have died protecting Naegi after all that suffering and relentless brutality he offered him. Munakata again is a man of action over word, and protecting Naegi with his last breath is the perfect way to show how in the end he changed. Especially when all he wanted initially was for Naegi to die. I find that much more satisfying than just…...walking off to who knows where.

So lets recap some changes. Munakata needs a proper display of his past traumas and his relationship with Sakakura and Yukizome. Munakata needs a proper display of his work relationships and the respect he has earned. Munakata needs to fall into corruption at a better pace, and have geniune reasons for his illogical attacks on Naegi. Munakata needs to care more for his friends. Munakata needs to deal with the turmoil of wanting to hurt Naegi while he believes the world is watching. Munakata needs to die for Naegi

This has gotten long...and I still have things to say. There is so much to make Munakata a good character. Future had a lot of potential and is amazing for a rewrite concept. As for Sakakura and Yukizome since this has gotten long feel free to ask for another round of this individually when asks are open again! If you read all of this somehow….TYSM

#ask #danganronpa #kyosuke munakata #dr3 #dr3 spoilers #analysis #???#sorry sorry sorry ahhhhh i have so much to say fuuuuihkhuhi

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onigirimsby · 5 years ago

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Royal!AU Akaashi x Reader? Also, I'm the anon who sent in the idea! I hope this is enough information. (:

Hi! Thanks for the idea! I’m so sorry this took so long :) I got distracted lol Anyway, I couldn’t decide what kind of royal au so i said why not 3 diff ones? hahahaha I hope it’s okay that it’s fem!reader

I feel like a proper royal au has GOT to be multichapter tho! You need room for the development, and the pining! 🥰

Royal AU Headcanons (akaashi x fem!reader)

The appeal of AUs is the idea that no matter the universe, they will find each other; no matter the timeline, they will fall in love.

Medieval Royal AU

You are a young princess, and Akaashi is your brother’s best friend.

He’s a duke’s only son who likes to play knight, and his family has been loyal to yours for as long as history can remember.

On this particular day, your brother yells out Akaashi’s name and you can’t help but lean outside your window.

There he is, on the palace grounds, looking lean and strong and majestic upon his horse. You want nothing more than to run down to meet him.

You can’t help admiring the way he dismounts his horse.

As soon as you think that, he looks up, as if he’s heard you (impossible). He smiles and waves while your brother chats absentmindedly.

You blush and wave back, glad he can’t see you very well from that distance. Your brother playfully punches him on the shoulder when he realizes what’s happening.

As soon as they’re looking away, you retreat back to your room and beg your lady-in-waiting to let you finish your embroidery later. It takes a lot of pleading and promising but she finally relents.

You run as fast as your heavy skirts allow and the palace staff have to pretend they’re not witnessing something so scandalous.

“Akaashi!” As soon as he hears you calling, he whips around, smiling as you approach him all flushed and with your hair messy from the exertion.

“Your Highness” He bows and you remind him he can call you by your name.

In a moment, a servant arrives with your favorite horse saddled and ready. Akaashi helps you onto the animal. His grip on your waist is respectful, though he lingers a beat too long that even your brother notices.

When you straddle the horse instead of riding side-saddle, Akaashi blushes, and you wonder why, since you’ve always ridden that way when it was just with family and very close friends.

Your brother sets a comfortable pace as the three of you ride, but it’s not long before it turns into a race.

You win, of course, and you’re not surprised when Akaashi follows in second, not too far behind. You dismount, and watch him ride into the secluded hollow that was the finish line.

As soon as Akaashi dismounts, you pull him close to you.

“Your Highness, it’s not proper.” He says, though he’s smiling as he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Akaashi, you’re going to have to stop calling me that.” You say, reluctantly pulling away from the kiss. “People are going to assume my fiance has forgotten my name,” you kiss him again, and this time his arms wrap around your waist as he pushes the two of you deeper into the shrubbery. “Besides, that’s not how you address a duke’s wife.”

“Oh, forgive me, your grace,” Akaashi corrects himself as he smiles into your kiss.

Ancient East Asian Royal AU

Your household is in a flurry as Akaashi unexpectedly visits your sprawling mansion. He’s young, but experienced in battle, and rumored to become the Emperor who will unite your nation. Or at least, that was his goal.

And you were the daughter of a nobleman who’d gained renown for being especially clever and wise.

When you reached marrying age, the expected suitors arrived, that much was normal. What no one expected was how difficult it would be to woo you, and how much of a prize you really were.

For starters, you’ve refused to show your face, despite rumors that you were beautiful, and you’d insisted on conversation and strategy games as the methods through which you’d pick your groom.

Another oddity was how you attracted suitors in the first place. Why would a well-respected, wealthy man work so hard, only to be rejected by someone they’d never seen. Sure, you were a nobleman’s daughter, but there were many of those in the country.

You were rumored to be beautiful, yes, but what really drew them was the challenge of outwitting you when no one else had. What had them coming back was the shame in being outwitted by a woman time and time again.

This is what had the young future-Emperor visiting your home. Akaashi knew if he were to unite his people, he needed a wise Empress to rule by his side.

When you welcome Akaashi into the room he kneels in front of your shrouded dais, and your glad he can’t see how nervous you are. You aren’t prepared for him. If he weren’t the future Emperor, he would’ve had to ask permission to visit, or announce his intention. And you had never expected to attract his attention in the first place.

Akaashi admits he isn’t especially eager to marry, let alone someone he’s never met, but he tells you he only wants someone wise and capable to rule by his side. He’s humble, and obviously cares for his people, and you guard your heart. You’ve fallen for those tricks before.

So, you give him his first riddle, and though it takes him days to solve it, in the days between, he visits you, still, just to talk.

The second puzzle is a task. It’s an impossible task, of course, unless he happens to listen to the advice of a lowly maid who has no right to talk to royalty.

The “maid” is always you in disguise. You want to see how your suitors treat those they don’t seek to impress.

To your surprise, Akaashi listens to the “maid”, and is thankful when the advice proves useful.

It goes on like this for an entire year; longer than any other suitor’s attempt.

He takes his time solving your riddles and puzzles, and you do your best to determine what kind of person he is. And all that time, he never once asks for your hand in marriage.

On the weeks he is absent to tend to his duties, you find yourself missing him. And upon his return, you’re excited to talk to him again.

He returns one day looking tired and bedraggled. He apologizes for his appearance and says he’s preparing for battle, one harder and more dangerous than any he’s faced before. And finally, he asks for your hand. If he survives - if he wins - he could not imagine anyone more capable to rule by his side.

To his surprise, you push aside the curtain of your dais so he can see who you really are.

“Let that be the final task, then.” You tell him. “Come back to me, win the battle, and I’ll be your bride.”

Modern Royal AU

You didn’t think you’d actually end up in the same class as the Crown Prince.

Of course, you knew he was entering the same university, since it was all over the news. You just didn’t think...

You try your best to act normal around him, because lord knows it must be weird enough being a prince. And you try not to get too annoyed when random people try to get pictures of him as he’s entering and leaving class.

You cringe at the thought of accidentally ending up in one of those pictures. Not that anyone would recognize you.

Your luck runs out when you end up working on a major project together.

How were you supposed to do your best and get a good grade when you were so intimidated by His Royal Highness Crown Prince Akaashi the Pretty or whatever?

And when he asks if you can work in his apartment (for obvious privacy reasons), you don’t expect a whole penthouse.

For what it’s worth, Akaashi does seem a bit shy about the opulence, and you do your best not to stare.

When you end up on the cover of a magazine (Scandal: Prince brings home mystery woman), Akaashi immediately apologizes and gets “his people” to take everything down.

You almost feel bad for him (after all, it was really just a blurry shot of your back), but you’re sort of terrified. It was a creepy invasion of privacy.

The next time you work on the project, you decide to book a study room in the university library.

The room feels too large and quiet, since they’re usually for larger study groups, and it’s awkward.

So, you babble to fill the silence and tell him it’s okay, and you feel worse for him. Until you realize how inappropriate that is, and apologize profusely. But you’re surprised to find him smiling.

Things warm up between the two of you after that. He’s a perfectly nice and well-adjusted person after all, and your a breath of fresh air from his formal and constrained life as a prince.

You’re surprised that you’re a little sad when you have to turn in the project, because that means no more convenient excuse to hangout.

That is, until Akaashi bashfully asks you out.

And he’s shy and scared because he knows his life is high-stakes, and it’s anything but casual, so he’s even more surprised when you say “yes”.

#Anonymous #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #for masterlist

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faejilly · 4 years ago

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tag game

Fic Writer Edition (tagged by @silver-latin-and-salt, tagging, idk, whoever is writing atm? @twistedsinews @leahazel @junemermaid, anyone who’d like, no one who doesn’t, etc.)

Fandoms: atm, primarily Shadowhunters. But also BioWare: Dragon Age and Mass Effect and maybe someday I’ll post some Jade Empire.

Also the occasional other game or TV show or Yuletide inspired one-shot. It’s a wide and ridiculous range of things, from a Georgette Heyer regency epilogue to Code: Realize and #7kpp to Firefly & even some Sleepy Hollow ficlets from back in s1 before we realized how terrible TPTB were going to be.

Number of fics: I have 158 works published on AO3.

This includes a couple of fanmixes that are linked on there to companion fics/series, two collaborative fics which are not just mine, even less so than most writing that is, and four WIPs: two of which I am still working on, one of which will absolutely 100% NEVER ever get more, and then that last one will probably not get more but who knows, maybe in ten years we’ll do a reunion and try again (it’s one of the collabs).

AS WELL AS: forty-seven different ficlet collections, sorted by fandom and pairing(s), because otherwise I would honestly have almost 1000 things and never be able to find a single damn one of them when I wanted to (and neither would anyone else). Like, ten of them are just for Shadowhunters because I split up the coda-fic by season and then also I put the porn in its own thing and Clizzy is kind of a post-canon AU so they’re on their own too and spin-offs of a particular fic setting get their own collection so they’re all together and etc. etc. etc.

Fic I spent a lot of time on: Do we count time actually writing? Or just the amount of time it hung out in my head before I finished it? Because I probably spent the most actual physical writing time on Lost For Words, which is a frothy cotton-candy experiment in long-fic for Mass Effect that I posted chapter by chapter as I wrote it and actually finished. (I have never successfully repeated the experience, tho I suppose a couple of my Shadowhunters fics will sort-of qualify in terms of length when they’re done, but they didn’t get posted semi-regularly and in progressive chapters in at all the same way.)

In terms of time between debut and completion, that would probably have to go to Cruel Intentions, which took over five years between initially going up on the Dragon Age Kink Meme and actually getting a conclusion.

i am for you and if broken hearts were whole have both been lingering WIPs for over two years at this point now, though, and a couple other DA2 fics were pretty close to that five year mark as well. 😅

Fic I didn’t spend a lot of time on: ashes of angels because I was coming up on my bingo deadline so I just pounded it out in a day. (It’s actually quite good tho! I think so, anyway! I am very proud of it! Read part one first, if you haven’t yet!)

also Impossible, (DA2, Bethany/Sebastian, confessional!porn) which mostly wrote itself in pretty short order, which was delightful. (Tho I also had a very astute beta for that one; don’t think he’s on tumblr anymore tho, or I’d yell at him in thanks again.) I told y’all I had a priest!kink problem. Not that you hadn’t all noticed on your own, anyways...

Longest fic: Finished? The aforementioned Lost for Words at just over 62k.

In limbo? Persephone Rising is literally three times longer than my next longest fic (and still not done!) but it is also a collab fic with three authors, so I suppose that sort of evens out?

Active WIP? i am for you at 59k. I’m not sure how much more is left of that one, tbqh... it will probably end up a bit longer than LfW, tho maybe not by much.

Shortest fic: I have no fucking clue, 47 ficlet collections, remember? In terms of a thing that I forgot to collect, apparently it is Consequences, which is my Brosca after the Landsmeet in DA:O.

Most hits/Most kudos/Most bookmarks: ALL THREE FOR i am for you! (Wonder how it’ll do when it’s no longer marked as a WIP?)

Total word count: On AO3: 1,137,609 !!!

(Sorry, you can see why I had to make that big tho, right?)

Fic I want to rewrite/expand: Except for the revisions to what is now Maleficar, I much prefer to leave fic as is, once it’s up there, so nothing on the re-write front. It was what it was when I did it, and it’s important to remember that, even when you move on to new stuff, imo.

But! I have potential/hopeful sequels in the WIP folder for and breathing is wishing, out of some dreaming tree, with an if in its soul, and several assorted ficlet collections & prompts I’ve sort of teased over the years.

Favourite fic of mine: At the moment, they have hung the sky with arrows because it’s a thing I’m not sure I ever really thought I was going to write, and then I did and I surprised myself a little, but it was fun and it ties together a lot of my thoughts on the Shadowhunters finale in a way I really enjoyed. (Also it has an actual plot! I don’t do that terribly often, I’m usually very introspective in my fic.)

Sneak peek of a WIP/Share an idea? I started a Shadowhunter!Magnus fic for a bingo square, but then scope creep! so I made a moodboard, but there is maybe a fic on the way... eventually. After my Bangs. 🤞🏻

The first time Magnus Bane met the High Warlock of Manhattan it was during his "travels", the two years after graduating from the Academy when most Nephilim wandered from Institute to Institute, seeing how things were done differently around the world, how they were still so often the same, learning about all the things you couldn't see in a classroom.

He wasn't actually in New York City in order to meet the High Warlock, of course, not as a 17-year-old foot soldier, that was well above his pay grade, as the mundanes put it. But when all the full-fledged Shadowhunters had work to do, he was assigned escort duty when the High Warlock showed up to do his yearly wards inspection.

Magnus met High Warlock Lightwood at the main entrance, and almost swallowed his own tongue at the sight of him, a broad shouldered, long-legged white man dressed in a conservative but very well-tailored suit, with heavy eyebrows, even heavier eyelashes, and a complete and utter lack of anything resembling an expression on his face.

A shiver went down Magnus' spine as he met the High Warlock's gaze, and he refused to think too much about why.

Magnus managed to introduce himself reasonably coherently, he thought, offering a hand to shake, but the High Warlock just raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought I'd talked them out of this nonsense last year."

"Uh." Magnus swallowed. The man was both terrifying and ludicrously attractive, and Magnus resigned himself to being a slightly stuttering idiot for the next four-to-six hours. "Not my call, I'm sorry to say. Sir."

The High Warlock rolled his eyes, and stepped forward. Magnus barely managed to dodge out of his way, and followed along behind him as he stalked towards the Angelic Core, where all the Institute Wards were anchored.

He never once acknowledged Magnus' presence as he worked, never asked for directions, or needed any sort of assistance. Magnus followed him anyway, and couldn't even bring himself to be upset about the waste of his time because damn, that view. He could see the shift of Lightwood's shoulders beneath the line of his coat, the tension in the muscles in his arms as each tiny motion correlated to whatever he was doing with his magic. There was so much power there, constrained and under his complete control.

The High Warlock never took so much as a wasted step in his clearly perfectly planned spiral of a route through the Institute's halls, circling out from the Core, stopping at each node, hitting all four corners of the building, before reaching the main doors again several hours later.

Once there he finally turned and looked at Magnus directly. He dipped his head in some slight acknowledgement, straightened his cuffs, and his face shifted into something that was merely neutral and professional rather than granite. "There were no concerns to note, Mr. Bane. The wards have been refreshed, and the contract terms have been met."

"Thank you," Magnus managed, though he had to cough to get his voice to cooperate.

The High Warlock's face softened, a hint of something that wasn't quite surprise in his eyes, but Magnus wasn't sure what to call it instead. "You're very welcome."

He nodded again, slightly more sincerely, perhaps, though there still wasn't enough of an expression on his face to properly qualify, in Magnus' opinion, and then he turned and left.

Magnus blinked at the doors as they shut behind him, and let out one long slow exhale. His shoulders relaxed, and it was only now that his posture sagged that he realized he'd been extra tense the entire time, as if waiting for an attack that had never come.

#on writing #fic memery #silver-latin-and-salt

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duocreatix · 5 years ago

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Written confessions: a Good Omens headcanon

I recently had the opportunity to read this fanfiction, in which Crowley had a British pop band in the 1990s and wrote songs based on his own anxieties about Aziraphale. It sounded so appropriate to his character as a whole that I began to think... what similar could the angel do to vent his own anguish over an impossible romance with a demon?

Well, he's a bookseller, right? Why not write a book?

Aziraphale likes to read, obviously, but that doesn't mean it's good with written words. I honestly can't see him sitting at the table writing an entire novel, risking being caught by his superiors, producing a written proof of a fraternization that shouldn't happen, or forcing himself to imagine his whole story as one of someone else, as many brilliant authors do without hesitation.

So why not dictate a book instead?

As I live in Brazil, I'll use common elements of my reality here, one of them being the great popularity of Spiritism in my land. Spiritism is a religion / doctrine (read about it here) originated in France that deals with the evolution of the spirit through incarnations, and books dictated by disembodied spirits (and psychographed by mediums) are particularly well received in my country. As a collector of first editions and misspelled Bibles, it wouldn't surprise me if Aziraphale, at some point in the 19th century, had come across Allan Kardec's "Bible According to Spiritism," even though Spiritism wasn't so well received in the UK.

Or maybe even Heaven itself could designate Aziraphale to keep an eye on this new movement, which meets various precepts of the Catholic Church, and the angel spends a season in France watching the maturation and establishment of the fascinating Spiritist doctrine, which goes on to help as many anguished souls as possible on their way toward the light. He meets mediums, teachers, and spirit guides, who recognize in the angel an enormous weight without identifying exactly the cause. And, obviously, they offer help.

He hesitates, of course, but the kindness and willingness are a trigger for his weary soul, needy of at least one friend who understands his problem (he and Crowley parted ways after 1862, after all). And then he vented for hours, days, for the first time in 6000 years without feeling constrained by the fact that he was a supernatural entity... weren't they all there?

After a long (and emotional) outburst, one of the guiding spirits makes the kind suggestion: "Why not turn your incredible life story into a book? We have several mediums willing to write everything you narrate about all your millennia with your friend, and you don't even have to sign your real name! It'll help put your mind in place and consider everything you two experienced in a new light."

The angel considers the offer with great care for days. There was a real possibility of being discovered (and obviously punished) by Heaven if any of them knew that he had freely given his flaming sword, his encounters with the demon, and - most seriously of all - their Arrangement. He would need to think very carefully about which facts could be told and which should be omitted... But nothing terrified him more than the prospect of being discovered by Crowley in person, having his feelings revealed, being rejected, blackmailed, end up alone again...

Then he remembers, with a bittersweet feeling, that neither Heaven nor Crowley are interested in books, so neither side would even dream about the existence of such records if Aziraphale were cautious enough.

Then Aziraphale accepts. And, for several sessions, he sits next to a gentle middle-aged woman and discusses all the encounters and mismatches between him and Crowley, mindful to create a pseudonym for both of them. What should be a single book turns into a trilogy, titled "From the Garden to the World," and is one of the best-selling Spiritist books of the following years.

Dictating books doesn't solve his problems, of course, but brings some peace of mind that the angel no longer knew, and helps him focus for the next decades ahead without Crowley. And when his stability is threw off balance in 1941, he once more seeks the same guiding spirit and writes a new tale, published as "Reflections on Ruins" in France.

The intensity of narration filled with repressed emotions and the transgressive love of protagonists on opposite sides in a tense period in history wins the hearts of millions of readers around the world, and the four works signed by the spirit Erza Fell are translated into six different languages. Always in touch with spiritual friends made during his time in France, Aziraphale receives through them hundreds of letters from people who have found comfort and answers to their own love difficulties reading his. The courage of these strangers helps him reinforce his own courage to go against his own principles and hand over a small tartan thermos to Crowley filled with holy water in 1967...

Crowley doesn't discover the existence of such books by the blissful fact that he never goes into bookstores on his own, except when he's looking for some specific first edition for Aziraphale... who strives to keep the demon away from any spiritist book that might cross his path. This changes, however, during the period when both are focused on their own roles as influences for little Warlock.

Mrs. Dowling has a weakness for historical novels, especially narratives involving soul mates and rematches through the centuries. On a visit to the US, she returns with all the books written by the angel, and spends days talking about the story to Nanny Astoreth, how the protagonists seemed deeply in love with each other, how many hours she had spent sobbing while reading the fourth book. ... "You need to read to understand", she says, pushing the first volume into the nanny's hands, "I need at least one person in this country who has also read these books to chat about them!"

Crowley sighs, accepts the book politely, and buries it deep in his carpet bag, staying there for the next few years until the eve of Armageddon. Fidgeting in his apartment, he looks for things to distract his mind, and finds the old bag of his nanny days tucked into the back of the closet. There weren't exactly many things there, just a lamp, a large mirror, extra pairs of shoes, a tape measure ... and a crumpled book that would make Aziraphale shiver.

The demon laughs at the cover, two hands holding an apple at the same time (gosh, how many memories ...), and the author's name - or would it be co-author? How did that work in spiritist books? - sounded curiously familiar, but the smile fades from his face when his eyes are drawn to a specific paragraph, right in the first pages:

"I never thought too much about the implications of having a demon under my wing, we were probably the only two beings capable of dialogue at that time in Eden, and the first storm was too long, too cold, to pass by myself, even if it meant passing with a vile serpent. The same serpent I hoped it would never leave my side for the next six thousand years. "

Crowley swallows hard, feeling his mouth as dry as a desert. This description invoked memories too old, too intimate, to be described by someone who hadn't lived them. But Aziraphale wouldn't have had the audacity to write his own experiences on Earth so openly, would he?

Well, there’s only one way to find out: reading the book.

In the end, Aziraphale had indeed the audacity to write their story from his own point of view, the bastard.

It was odd, reviewing millennia of memories through someone else's eyes, but at least it helped him to understand the angel's attitude on multiple occasions and, even more surprising, the impact their fraternization had on his worldview (not enough, apparently, but bigger than he expected).

Bustling, Crowley finishes the first book in one hour and set out on a rampant search for the next three books in London, with no patience to order them online (who could say the world would still be there after Saturday?). Dozens of bookstores later, the demon found the only specialized bookshop in the region and, after intense negotiation with the seller (Why were all tallow owners so greedy???), he finally sits in his apartment with the stack of books on one side and two bottles of whiskey on the other.

Many hours go by, and two bottles aren't enough for Crowley to continue absorbing so much information (he summons other three), reliving scenes he'd like to forget ...

"I should never have used the term 'fraternize', but what else could I say with Heaven and Hell watching us, while the only constant being in this mutating world suddenly asks me for something that could erase him from all the planes of existence?"

(Oh, that afternoon in 1862, what he wouldn’t give to go back in time and cover his own mouth before saying that hateful "I don't need you"... He needed, God knows well how much he needed his angel and mourned over their distance through the following 80 years!)

It isn't any easier to read what comes after that day. The loneliness, the desperate need for something that would made Aziraphale less empty finding echo in Crowley's chest, an ache of empathy that a real demon would never feel in their eternal life. He finishes "Reflections on Ruins" with a sigh, laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling for minutes that looked like hours to him. The world hasn't changed, they were still one step away from Armageddon and the Antichrist was still missing, Heaven and Hell were just waiting for their moment tho start the war they longed for millennia.

But all he could think was how much he wanted to look at Aziraphale's big blue eyes once more.

Crowley inhales deeply ans sobers up before picking up his phone and dialing the number of the bookshop. He doesn't have a plan, but he can think of anything on his way to the bandstand.

#good omens #Headcanon #sorry for my poor english #if anyone wants to write more please feel free

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